JBHMH*« 


„*,,..*«»„  J, 


JOSEPH 

VANCE 


I 


MMBMMMBBSie 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  Paul  Boyich 


JOSEPH  VANCE 


By 
WILLIAM  Lr>E  MORGAN  , 

AUTHOR  OP 

ALICE-FOR-8HORT,   IT  NEVER  CAN  HAPPEN  AGAIN, 
SOMEHOW    GOOD,    AND    AN    AFFAIR    OF    DISHONOR 


GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  ::  NEW    YORK 


Copyright,  1906 

BT 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
PiMifAed  July,  1906 


GIFT 


tt.      t 


JL  oo 


THI   QUINN    ft    BODEN    CO.    PBESS 
KAUWAY,    K.    J. 


HI 
Dztt, 

j 


DEDICATED   TO 

HORATIO    LUCAS 

IN  TOKEN   OF 
A   VERY    OLD    FRIENDSHIP 

AND 
AN     UNFORGOTTEN     TIME 


105 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

FA6B 

OF  JOE  VANCE'S  FATHEB  AND  HIS  UNFORTUNATE  HABITS.  HOW  HE 
QUARRELLED  WITH  A  SWEEP  WHO  COULD  BUTT  ;  AND  SUFFERED 
THEREBY.  HOW  JOE  CONCEALED  THIS  CIRCUMSTANCE  FROM  HIS 

MOTHER 1 

CHAPTER  II. 

T»OW  JOE  PREVARICATED.  OF  PORKY  OWLS  AND  A  SPORTING  CARD. 
HOW  JOE  WAS  A  WITNESS  ;  ALSO  OF  THE  REV.  MR.  CAPSTICK  AND 
OF  MR.  VANCE  AS  A  CONTROVERSIALIST.  HOW  JOE  VISITED  HIS 
FATHER  IN  THE  HOSPITAL 13 

CHAPTER  III. 

OF  JOE'S  FATHER'S  CONVALESCENCE,  AND  OF  HIS  CONNECTION  WITH  A 
BENEFIT  CLUB.  OF  JOE'S  EIGHTH  BIRTHDAY,  AND  OP  HOW  A 
VERY  LITTLE  MAN  SOLD  HIS  FATHER  A  SIGNBOARD.  ...  22 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  SHORT  CHAPTER,  BUT  THEN  IT  IS  THE  THIN  END  OF  A  BIG  WEDGE. 

FOR  IT  TELLS  HOW  MR.  VANCE  GOT  HIS  FIRST  BUILDING  JOB.  .         30 

CHAPTER  V. 

OF  JOE'S  VERY  FIRST  VISIT  TO  POPLAR  VILLA.  OF  ITS  DRAINS  AND 
THEIR  STENCH.  OF  HOW  JOE  SAW  HIS  FIRST  REAL  YOUNG  LADY 
AT  HOME.  HOW  SHE  KISSED  JOE,  AND  JOE  LIKED  IT.  OF  A  PEAR 
TREE  THAT  LIVED  THENCEFORWARD  IN  JOE'S  MEMORY.  OF  HIS 
RETURN  HOME 35 

CHAPTER  VI. 

SHOWS  HOW  MR.  VANCE  OBTAINED  CAPITAL  AND  PLANT.   ALSO  HOW 

HE  CREATED  CONFIDENCE -    46 

CHAPTER  VII. 

CONCERNING  A  BARREL-DRAIN  WHICH  DID  NOT  EXIST,  OF  REPAIRS  TO 
THE  NURSERY  CHIMNEY  AND  HOW  JOE  WENT  UP  IT.  ALSO  WHAT 
A  GOOD  WASHING  HE  HAD .60 

iii 


iv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGE 

HOW  JOEY  HAD  MISS  LOSSIE'S  ARM  HOUND  HIM  WHILE  HE  SAW  BOOKS. 
MISS  VIOLET  CORRECTS  HER  SISTER.  MISS  LOSSIE'S  TONGUE. 
HOW  JOE  WENT  HOME  AND  HEARD  PROM  PORKY  OP  THE  BEAK. 
HOW  MR.  VANCE  HAS  ANOTHER  JOB,  ALL  DUE  TO  THE  MAGIC 
BOARD .  •  .55 

CHAPTER  IX. 

HOW  JOEY  PAID  ANOTHER  VISIT  TO  POPLAR  VILLA,  AND  HOW  HE 
SHOCKED  MISS  VIOLET.  HOW  HE  WENT  UP  INTO  THE  LIBRARY 
AND  SAT  ON  DR.  THORPE'S  KNEE  AND  DID  EUCLID.  HOW  HE 
WEPT  ABOUT  MISS  LOSSIE.  HOW  DR.  T.  OFFERED  HIM  AN  EDUCA- 
TION. AND  OP  THE  SAD  COLLAPSE  OF  PETER  GUNN,  TESTE  PORKY 
OWLS 63 

CHAPTER  X. 

ABOUT  JOE  NOW,  AS  HE  WRITES,  AND  ABOUT  SOME  OLD,  OLD  LETTERS 
OP  LOSSIE'S.  SOME  MORALIZING  YOU  MAY  SKIP.  HOW  LOSSIE 
WENT  TO  THE  SEASIDE.  PORKY  OWLS'S  OBSCURANTISM — SOME- 
WHAT OP  MISS  VIOLET'S  GRANDES  PASSIONS.  ....  70 

CHAPTER  XI. 

A  VERY  SHORT  CHAPTER  ABOUT  HOW  JOEY  WENT  TO  MR.  PENGUIN'S 
SEMINARY,  OR  ACADEMY.  NEVERTHELESS  IT  TELLS  HOW  HE  DID 
LATIN  WITH  LOSSIE'S  ARM  ROUND  HIM.  ,  •  •  •  •  89 

CHAPTER  XII. 

MORE  ABOUT  PENGUIN'S.  SOMEWHAT  OP  THE  SACRED  CULT  OP  GEN- 
TLEMAN. HOW  JOE  WAS  PROMOTED  TO  A  REAL  PUBLIC  SCHOOL, 
AND  HIS  IMPRESSIONS  OP  IT .  .  .  .94 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOW  JOE  RETURNED  PROM  ST.  WITHOLD,  BUT  WAS  AFFLICTED  BY  HIS 
HAT.  BUT  WAS  RELIEVED.  MORE  OP  HIS  FATHER'S  LEAPS  UP  IN 
LIFE.  JOE'S  RETICENCE 100 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

AN  UN-ACADEMICAL  SUNDAY  MORNING.  CONCERNING  HIS  FATHER'S 
NEW  HOUSE.  JOE'S  WALK  TO  POPLAR  VILLA,  BUT  NO  MISS  LOSSIE. 
HE  TELLS  HIS  SCHOOL  EXPERIENCES.  ANTHROPOPHAGI.  HE  WILL 
FOLLOW  LOSSIE,  EVEN  TO  HAMPSTEAD.  .  ,  .  .  .  105 

CHAPTER  XV. 

HOW  JOE  WALKED  AND  'BUSSED  TO  LOSSIE  IN  HAMPSTEAD.  HOW  A 
LITTLE  GIRL  TALKED  TO  HIM,  WHO  PREFERRED  DROWNING  TO 
HANGING.  HOW  LOSSIE  LIT  JOE'S  HEART  UP  J  AND  OF  THE 
SPENCER  MENAGE.  LOSSIE  MAKES  JOE  TROT  ST.  WITHOLD  OUT 
AT  THE  FIRS  ON  HAMPSTEAD  HEATH.  HOW  GLAD  JOE  WAS  HE 
HAD  TOLD  NO  MORE  ABOUT  HIS  SCHOOL  NIGHTMARE.  .  .  Ill 


CONTENTS  v 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

PAGE 

JOE'S  FATHER'S  HAT  AGAIN.  AND  HOW  HIS  MOTHER  DIED.  A  LET- 
TER OF  LOSSIE  WRITTEN  A  YEAR  AFTER.  OF  HIS  FATHER'S  GRIEF 
AND  HIS  OWN.  THE  STORY  OF  HIS  FATHER'S  COURTSHIP  TOLD  TO 
JOE — OF  THE  PURE  CAIRN  MAGORRACHAN  MOUNTAIN  DEW,  AND 
HOW  JOE  LAY  AWAKE  BECAUSE  OF  THE  SAME 128 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

*N  INEXCUSABLY  LONG  LETTER  OF  MISS  LOSSIE'S — IT  TELLS  HOW  SHE 
ADVOCATED  THE  CAUSE  OF  TEMPERANCE  MORE  SUCCESSFULLY 
THAN  POOR  MR.  CAPSTICK,  WHOSE  INTENTIONS  WERE  GOOD,  BUT 
WHO  WAS  LACKING  IN  TACT.  AND  OF  HOW  MR.  VANCE  POURED 
THE  CAIRN  MAGORRACHAN  MOUNTAIN  DEW  ON  THE  PARLOUR 
FIRE.  . 141 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  TALE  OF  JOE'S  PUGNACITY  AT  SCHOOL.  OF  HIS  FATHER'S  ABSTINENCE. 
MUCH  ABOUT  HIS  NAMESAKE  JOEY,  WHICH  WE  WOULD  OMIT  IF  WE 
COULD  DO  WITHOUT  IT.  OF  THE  RAPIDITY  OF  HIS  FATHER'S  RISE. 
OF  HOW  HE  SAW  NOLLY,  BUT  THE  OTHER  DAY,  AND  COULD  NOT 
SPEAK  WITH  HIM.  OF  HOW  LOSSIE  IS  STILL  LIVING,  IN  ITALY.  .  151 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

HOW  DR.  THORPE  VISITED  JOE  AT  OXFORD,  AND  HOW  THAT  VISIT 
ENDED  THE  FIRST  MOVEMENT  OF  JOE'S  LIFE  ON  A  DISCORD.  OF 
HIS  PAINFUL  DOUBLE  IDENTITY 161 

CHAPTER  XX. 

LETTERS  OF  LOSSIE,  VERY  IMPORTANT.  GENERAL  DESPREZ.  HOW 
SHE  TOLD  ABOUT  JOE — HOW  THE  GENERAL  WANTED  TO  MARRY 
LOSSIE — FULL  DETAILS  OF  ALL  HE  SAID,  BUT  NO  STAGE  DIREC- 
TIONS. HOW  JOE'S  TRAGEDY  BURST  SUDDENLY  ON  LOSSIE,  AND 
SHE  ORDERED  THE  GENERAL  TO  THE  RESCUE 173 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

HOW  JOE  AND  HIS  SELF  LIVED  IN  GLOOM  AT  OXFORD  AND  WOULD 
NOT  GO  TO  LONDON.  HOW  GENERAL  DESPREZ  CAME  FOR  THEM 
AND  JOE  KEPT  HIS  SELF  IN  CHECK.  HOW  LOSSIE  MET  THEM  ALL 
AT  PADDINGTON 188 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

LOSSIE'S  FAREWELL  INJUNCTIONS  TO  JOE.  HIS  NAMESAKE  IS  NOT  A 
SOURCE  OF  SATISFACTION.  A  JOLLY  WEDDING,  AND  THE  CROAK- 
ING AFTER.  LOSSIE'S  SEND-OFF.  POOR  JOE  1  .  .  .  .  198 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

HOW  CHRISTOPHER  VANCE  &  CO/S  MR.  MACFARREN  GAVE  NO  SATISFAC- 
TION. AND  HOW  A  SUBSTITUTE  WAS  FOUND  FOR  HIM.  TO  DR. 
THORPE  FOR  CONSOLATION.  OF  AN  EMPTY  WHISKEY  BOTTLE.  199 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PAOB 

JOE'S  DUPLEX  GEAR  DISCOMFORTS  HIM.  JUSTICE  TO  PINDAR.  HOW 
JOE  WENT  TO  LYNMOUTH  WITH  A  READING  PARTY,  AND  INVITED 
MASTER  JOSEPH  THORPE.  THE  LATTER  GOES  UNDER  A  SEA-ROCK. 
JOE  AFTER  HIM.  HOW  A  LIFE  WAS  SAVED  FOR  ONE  WHO  COULD 
NOT  USE  IT  FOR  GOOD 205 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

HOW  JOE  WOULD  HAVE  TAKEN  A  BETTER  DEGREE  BUT  FOR  CHESS. 
HOW  HE  PATENTED  HIS  SPHERICAL  ENGINE.  HIS  DIFFICULTIES 
WITH  THE  BRITISH  ENGINEER.  OF  HOW  HE  IS  CHEATED  AND  HIS 
FATHER  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE 211 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  FERRET  IS  BIBULOUS.  HOW  JOE  WENT  TO  PLAY  CROQUET  WITH 
HIS  DAUGHTER.  OF  HER  GLORIOUS  BEAUTY  AND  ITS  EFFECT 
ON  ONE  OF  JOE'S  INDIVIDUALITIES.  HE  TALKS  TO  A  FLAT 
JANE.  OF  A  GUST  OF  ABBOT  AN8ELM,  AND  JOE'S  MEETING  WITH 
AN  OLD  FOE,  WHO  IS  FIANCE  TO  THE  FERRET'S  DAUGHTER.  JANE 
IS  SOMEBODY  TOO.  HE  GOES  HOME  LINKED  WITH  HIS  FOE.  .  .  217 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

HOW  JOE'S  FATHER  HAD  BEEN  MATCHMAKING,  AND  HOW  HE  EXCEEDED 

HIS  ALLOWANCE.  HOW  GOOD  A  DAUGHTER-IN-LAW  WOULD  BE 
FOR  HIM.  JOE  IS  NOT  IN  LOVE  WITH  THE  FLAT  JANE.  HOW  HE 
WROTE  WHO  SHE  WAS  TO  LOSSIE  ;  A  FOOLISH  LETTER.  OF  THE 
SPHERICAL  ENGINE.  HOW  HE  MET  FLAT  JANE  AGAIN  AT  THE 
FERRET'S.  AND  GOT  DANGEROUSLY  CONFIDENTIAL.  .  .  .  226 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

JOE  HEARS  FROM  FLAT  JANE.  HOW  HIS  FATHER  SMELT  A  RAT.  HOW 
JOE  SPENT  AN  EVENING  AT  FLAT  JANE'S  FATHER'S,  AND  TOOK  A 
BOOK  TO  HER  LATER.  OF  THE  OLD  LIBRARY.  JANE  GETS  AT  JOE. 
BUT  SHE  IS  VERY  NICE.  SHE  CLEARS  JOE'S  MIND  UP  GREATLY. 
JOE  IS  A  FOOL — WHY  NOT  BE  FRIENDS  ?  HE  TALKS  WITH  DR. 
THORPE,  WHO  RATHER  LOVES  JANE  BY  REPORT.  JOE  PERHAPS 
LOVES  HER  TOO,  AND  IS  A  FOOL  AGAIN. 238 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOW  TWO  FIANCES  READ  MRS.  LUCILLA  DESPREZ'S  ANSWER  TO  JOE'S 
LETTER.  OF  PERTURBATION  THEREAT.  OF  HOW  JOE*S  FATHER 
FOUND  AND  READ  IT  TOO.  HE  WILL  NOT  BE  AN  ENCUMBRANCE. 
OF  ANOTHER  LETTER  FROM  JANE.  JOE  IS  BROKEN  QUITE  OFF.  .  249 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

JOE  COULD  BEAR  TO  LOSE  JANEY.  OF  THE  SPHERICAL  ENGINE  AND 
HIS  NEW  PROVISIONAL.  AND  PRING.  HOW  JOE'S  FATHER  WILL 
BUILD  HIM  AN  ENGINEERING  WORKSHOP.  THE  MACALLI8TER 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

KEPEATER,  AND  JOE'S  PARTNERSHIP  WITH  BONY.  MRS.  BONY*S 
BABY.  MR.  BONY  ON  ENGAGEMENTS,  AND  HOW  HE  DID  IT.  OP  A 
CONFESSION  OF  PHEENER'S.  AND  HOW  OLD  VANCE  GOT  VERY 
DRUNK.  EHEU  I  JOE  GOES  TO  SEEK  SOLACE  FROM  DR.  THORPE.  258 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

BUT  DR.  THORPE  WAS  IN  TROUBLE  HIMSELF,  FOR  THAT  BEPPINO  IS 
IN  DISGRACE.  NOLLY'S  OPINION  ABOUT  BEPPINO'S  FRIENDS.  HOW 
BEPPINO  WAS  THRASHED.  A  PASSIONATE  ADMIRATION.  BEP 
REALLY  VAIN  OF  IT.  HOW  JOE  WAS  UNFEELING  TO  HIM.  HOW 
PHEENER  TOOK  AWAY  THE  BOTTLE 270 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

HOW  JOE  MET  JANEY  AGAIN.  HE  IS  LEFT  ALONE  WITH  HER  AND 
FEELS  QUEER.  HOW  HE  WILL  WRITE  IT  ALL  TO  LOS8IE.  MATCH- 
MAKING JEANNIE.  THEY  ARE  ALONE  SOME  MORE.  A  RAPPROCHE- 
MENT ON  BONY-JEANNIE  LINES.  HOW  JOE'S  WALK  HOME  WAS 
HAPPY. 285 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

BUT  HE  DIDN'T  WRITE  THE  LETTER  TO  LOSSIE.  MR.  VANCE'S  DISGUST 
AT  THE  RECRUDESCENCE  OF  THE  WIDOW.  HOW  HE  TOLD  DR. 
THORPE,  AND  THERE  WAS  SOMETHING  AFTER  ALL  !  BUT  JEANNIE 
WILL  PROVIDE  FOR  NOLLY.  JOE'S  WANT  OF  LITERARY  SKILL 

JERKS  HIS  TALE  OUT  OF  GEAR.  '*  1  '"' 296 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AND,  AFTER  ALL,  LOSSIE'S  LETTER  PASSED  HER  IN  MID-OCEAN  !  OF 
HOW  JOE  AND  JANEY  READ  HIS  FATHER'S  LETTER  AT  POPLAR 
VILLA,  AND  HOW  LOSSIE  CAME  UNEXPECTEDLY  ON  TWO  HAPPY 
LOVERS  IN  THE  TWILIGHT.  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  THE  ELDEST 
MISS  FLOWERDEW  !  DR.  THORPE  JOINS  THEM  ;  BUT  HOW  ABOUT 

HIS  HEART?  HOW  JOE  AND  JANEY  WERE  MARRIED.  BUT  NO  ONE 
CAN  PLAY  JANEY'S  PIANO  NOW 306 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

OF  THE  NEW  FACTORY  IN  CHELSEA.  OF  THE  BACKSLIDING  OP  OLD 
MR.  VANCE.  HOW  JOE  DREAMED  A  STRANGE  DREAM,  AND  ITS 
INTERRUPTION.  OF  THE  GREAT  FIRE,  AND  HOW  MR.  VANCE  WAS 
RESCUED.  BUT  SPRAINED.  SO  FAR  AS  CAN  BE  ASCERTAINED, 
FULLY  COVERED  BY  INSURANCE.  AN  OLD  BURNED  BOARD,  WITH 
WRITING  ON  IT.  .  .  ,  t. 317 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

OF  A  BRAIN-WAVE  THAT  WENT  TO  INDIA.  AND  OF  AN  OPTICAL  DE- 
LUSION. HOW  JOE  TOOK  THE  NEWS  TO  DR.  THORPE,  AND  BEP- 
PINO WAS  A  BORE.  AUNT  IZZY  TOO  DEAF  FOR  ANYTHING.  DR. 
THORPE  AND  JOB  WALK  TO  CHELSEA 335 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

PAGE 

A  CONFERENCE  AND  A  GROWING  ALARM.  HOW  THE  WHISKEY-BOTTLE 
HAD  CAUSE  TO  CHUCKLE.  THE  CHEQUE  BOOKS  DID  IT,  OF  COURSE 
— WANTED  THIRTY-THOUSAND  POUNDS.  ALSO  HOW  A  BANK 
SMASHED — AND  HOW  A  BIG  BAD  DEBTOR  OWED  A  BIG  BAD  DEBT. 
CHRISTOPHER  VANCE  &  CO.  INSOLVENT 344 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

JOE'S  FATHER  DOES  NOT  IMPROVE  MUCH.  BUT  HE  IS  HIS  OLD  SELF 
STILL,  AND  ENJOYS  A  SURPRISE  HE  HAS  TREASURED  FOR  HIS 
FAMILY.  HOW  HE  HAD  BOUGHT  A  TRINKET  IN  BOND  STREET. 
THE  NEW  LIMITED  CO.  IT  STARTS  ILL  ;  BUT  GOOD  FORTUNE 
BRINGS  BACK  AN  OLD  BOARD  TO  HELP  THE  BOARD  OF  DIRECTORS.  353 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

JOE'S  FATHER  SLIPS  DOWNHILL.  PETER  GUNN  CROPS  UP.  AND  AT 
LAST  OLD  VANCE  KNOWS  THE  STORY  OF  THE  BOTTLE-END.  HE 
REACHES  THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  HILL,  AND  GOES  ELSEWHERE. 
BUT  THE  BOARD  18  STRONG  AND  PHEENER  IS  DESERVEDLY  RICH, 
AND  ALL  18  WELL.  SO  JOE  HAS  TIME  FOR  REMINISCENCE,  AND 
REMEMBERS  HOW  HE  MET  PORKY  OWLS  AGAIN,  AND  DIDN'T  KNOW 
HIM 360 

CHAPTER  XL. 

THIS  CHAPTER  IB  REALLY  ALL  DEVOTED  TO  DR.  THORPE'S  OPINIONS, 
ALTHOUGH  IT  PRETENDS  NOT  AT  THE  BEGINNING.  BETTER  SKIP 
THEM.  A  QUOTATION  FROM  TENNYSON.  JANEY  AND  JOE  MAKE 
EACH  A  PROMISE  TO  THE  OTHER. 367 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

A  CHAPTER  THAT  HAD  TO  BE  WRITTEN 382 

CHAPTER  XLIL 

JOE  18  A  WIDOWER.  A  TENANTLES8  OLD  HOUSE.  HOW  HE  WENT  TO 
DR.  THORPE  ;  AND  OF  A  CHILD  THAT  WAS  SAVED  ON  THE  WRECK. 
THE  SYMPATHY  OF  BEPPINO.  A  GOOD  IDEA  I  WHY  NOT  TAKE 
BEPPINO  TO  ITALY? 390 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

HOW  JANEY'S  PIANO  WAS  TO  BE  KEPT  IN  TUNE.  FRAU  SCHMIDT. 
THE  WALDSTEIN  SONATA.  THE  FRAU  MISLEADS  BEPPINO.  WHO 
MI88  SIBYL  FULLER  PERCEVAL  WAS.  THE  GOLDEN  BEAD  IN  THE 
HUMAN  CRUCIBLE.  THE  KINCARDINE8IIIRE  JOINT-STOCK  BANK. 

HOW  ABOUT  THE  DOCTOR'S  HEART  ?  ....      403 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

PAGE 

BEPPINO  AS  A  MARINER.  PARIS  AT  PARIS.  THE  JOURNEY  TO  ITALY. 
IDOMENEO  PELLEGRINI.  BUT  NO  JANEY  NOW.  BEPPINO  CARRIES 
OFF  JOE'S  TRUNK  TO  FLORENCE  ;  WHEREOF  THE  ENGRAVED  NAME 
CAUSES  MUCH  APPREHENSION 415 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

JOE'S  RETURN  HOME.  MR.  SPENCER  AND  COMTE.  HIS  BAD  NEWS 
ABOUT  DR.  THORPE'S  AFFAIRS.  A  FORGOTTEN  TRUST  FUND.  THE 

DOCTOR  BANKRUPT.      LOSSIE'S  RETURN  FROM  INDIA.  .  .      423 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

LOS8IE— SHE  HAS  NO  PATIENCE  WITH  DR.  THORPE'S  VICTIM.  BEPPINO 
AND  MISS  FULLER  PERCEVAL.  A  MYSTERIOUS  LETTER  FROM 
FLORENCE.  BEPPINO'S  EXPLANATIONS.  THE  CENOTAPH  IN 
PORTUGAL.  JOE  CARRIES  THE  TURK  PAST  THE  DOCTOR'S  LI- 
BRARY DOOR.  O  GRAVE  I  WHERE  IS  THY  VICTORY?  .  .  431 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

JOE'S  ABSENCE  FROM  BEPPINO'S  WEDDING.  VULGARITY,  BANALITY. 
ANOTHER  LETTER  FROM  FLORENCE.  JEANNIE  DETECTS  A  FAINT 
SMELL  OF  A  DEVIL.  BUT  BEPPINO  GETS  HIS  LETTER.  .  .  441 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

BEPPINO'S  ILLNESS.  LOS8IE  STARTS  FOR  AVIGNON.  A  DISTINGUISHED 
AUTHOR'S  FUNERAL.  JOE  MEETS  NEWS  OF  YET  ANOTHER  DEATH 
ON  HIS  RETURN  TO  CHELSEA.  HE  HAS  THROWN  AWAY  GOOD 

GRIEF  ON  BEPPINO.      WHY  DID  BEPPINO  WANT  HIS  CHILD  CALLED 
CRISTOFORO? 448 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

JOE  SUBSIDIZES  CRISTOFORO.  HOW  HE  TOOK  GENERAL  DE8PREZ 
INTO  HIS  CONFIDENCE.  THE  BRAZILIAN  SCHEME.  ANOTHER 
FLORENTINE  LETTER.  HOW  JOE  RESOLVED  TO  GO  OUT  AND  SEE 
THAT  CRISTOFORO  WAS  PROPERLY  NOURISHED 458 

CHAPTER  L. 

JOE  GOES  TO  FIESOLE.  AND  HEARS  ALL  ABOUT  BEPPINO'S  WILD  OAT. 
HE  GETS  HIS  LETTERS,  AND  ADOPTS  HIS  BABY.  HIS  MIXED  TALE 
TO  LO88IE.  HE  IS  WALKING  ON  A  TIGHT-ROPE,  BUT  FOR  LOS- 
SIR'S  SAKE 466 

CHAPTER  LI. 

A  LETTER  FROM  A  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD.  THE  GENERAL'S  SATCHEL. 
JOE  ARRANGES  FOR  HIS  START  TO  BRAZIL.  BUT  HE  GOES  TO  SEE 
CRISTOFORO  AGAIN  FIRST.  HOW  HE  TOOK  A  WALK  AT  FIESOLE, 
WITHOUT  JANEY.  AND  HOW  HE  HEARD  THE  WALDSTEIN  SONATA 
ON  THE  TUSCAN  HILLS.  HOW  CRISTOFORO  TICKLED.  .  .  473 


x  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  LII. 

PAGE 

HERR  PPLEIDERBR  DISAPPROVES  OP  BRAZIL.  HOW  JOE,  TEARS 
AFTER,  WENT  TO  LOOK  FOR  POPLAR  VILLA,  AND  GRASS  THEN 

GREW  WHERE  TROY  TOWN  STOOD.  HOW  BEPPINO'S  SECOND  SON 
(OR  THEREABOUTS)  WAS  BORN.  THE  NEED  OF  BROWNING.  OF 

A  VILLA  FOR  LO8SIE  AT  SORRENTO,  NOT  FLORENCE.  HOW  THE 
GENERAL  NEVER  UNDERSTOOD  THE  DOCTOR,  MORE'S  THE  PITY  ! 
JOE'S  LAST  HAPPY  EVENING  IN  ENGLAND.  HOW  HE  CALLED  ON 
AUNT  IZZY.  AND  OF  MR.  SPENCER.  NOLLY  SEES  JOE  OFF  AT 
EU8TON.  THE  SEA,  ONCE  MORE  ! 481 

CHAPTER  LIII. 

WHAT  JOE  HAS  BEEN  DRIVING  AT.  HE  HAS  CRI8TOFORO  OUT  TO  HIM 
IN  BRAZIL.  HOW  THE  GENERAL  DIED  LIKE  A  HERO  AT  MAIWAND. 
LOS8IE  GOES  TO  FLORENCE.  A  PLEASANT  LETTER  FROM  HER  AT 
VILLA  MAGONCINI.  ANOTHER,  WITH  A  PLEASANT  POSTSCRIPT. 
JOB  TAKES  A  RIDE  AND  SHOOTS  A  HALF-BREED.  ACCIDENT  TO 
CRISTOFORO.  JOE'S  ANSWER  TO  THE  LETTER.  MORE  CORRE- 
SPONDENCE, TERRIBLE  TO  JOE.  ALL  IS  ENDED.  "THIS  IS  FOR 
L08SIE." 492 

CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE  TALE  IS  TOLD.  A  FEW  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  FOLK  SEEN  IN  LON- 
DON, OF  NOLLY,  OF  HICKMAN,  OF  PRING,  OF  LADY  TOWER- 
BTAIR8.  AND  OF  POOR  OLD  CAPSTICK,  IN  A  MADHOUSE  !  WHEN 
HE  HAS  LOOKED  THROUGH  THE  LETTERS  AGAIN,  HE  WILL  BURN 
THE  WHOLE  LOT  ;  BUT—!  A  LONG  LETTER  OF  LOSSIE'S  TO 
8ARITA  SPENCER.  FINIS 506 


JOSEPH   VANCE 


JOSEPH   VANCE 


CHAPTEK  I 

OF  JOE  VANCE'S  FATHER  AND  HIS  UNFORTUNATE  HABITS.    HOW  HE 
QUARRELLED  WITH  A  SWEEP  WHO  COULD  BUTT;  AND  SUFFERED 

THEREBY.      HOW    JOE    CONCEALED    THIS    CIRCUMSTANCE    FROM    HIS 
MOTHER. 

MY  Father  and  Mother  never  could  come  to  a  clear  understand- 
ing about  what  had  disagreed  with  my  Father  the  day  he  lost  his 
situation  at  Fothergill's. 

My  Father  thought  it  was  the  sausage  and  mashed  potatoes  he 
had  for  lunch  at  the  Rose  and  Crown,  at  fourpence,  and  as  much 
mustard  and  pepper  as  you  liked.  My  Mother  thought  it  was  the 
beer. 

There  was  something  to  be  said  for  my  Mother's  view,  on  the 
score  of  quantity. 

"Everything,"  she  said,  "I  bring  to  figures,  and  my  Aunt 
Elizabeth  Hannah  taught  me  to  it."  And  sure  enough  figures  did 
show  that  my  Father,  who  had  a  shilling  and  threepence  in  his 
pocket  when  he  left  home  at  six-thirty  in  the  morning,  must  have 
spent  eightpence  on  beer,  or  lost  some  of  it. — Because,  if  we  allow 
a  penny  for  the  'bus,  and  twopence  for  a  'arf  an  ounce  of  barker 
which  he  bought  (I  do  not  like  to  give  his  exact  words)  at  a 
tobacconist's  with  a  haemorrhage  on  his  way  home,  there's  the 
price  of  two  quarts  of  four  ale  left,  put  it  how  you  may. — "  And 
your  Father  always  had  a  weak  head,"  said  my  Mother  in  after 
years,  in  the  many  times  over  she  told  me  the  story. 

Anyhow,  something  must  have  disagreed  with  him,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  called  Mr.  Wotherspoon,  the  head  clerk  at  Fother- 
gill's,  an  old  herring-gut  when  he  told  him  to  put  his  trolley  some- 
where else,  and  not  leave  it  stood  in  the  orfice  door. 

"  Of  course  it  wasn't  a  civil  remark,  in  the  manner  of  speak- 
ing," said  my  Mother,  "but  your  Father,  my  dear,  was  that  sim- 
ple and  honourable  himself  he  never  had  a  suspicion  of  guile. — 
And  well  did  Mr.  Wotherspoon  deserve  the  epithet  if  my  belief 


2  JOSEPH  VANCE 

is  true  (and  I  shall  hold  it  to  my  dying  day)  that  the  old  man 
only  similated  deafness  all  those  years  to  one  day  catch  your 
Father  out.  For  I  need  'ardly  say  to  you,  my  dear,  that  the  re- 
mark was  a  outside  remark,  as  the  sayin'  is,  and  not  intended  to 
reach  its  audience." 

If  my  recollection  of  my  Father's  conversation  isn't  coloured 
by  subsequent  experience  of  hoarse  men  in  taprooms,  resembling 
his  personal  friends  at  this  date  in  their  accent  and  the  bias  of 
their  philosophy,  Mr.  Wotherspoon  must  have  taken  a  good  deal 
of  unnecessary  trouble  to  procure  a  conviction.  Indeed,  I  re- 
member my  Mother  saying  once  that  the  strength  of  language 
was  proverbial,  and  that  Vance  was  no  exception  to  the  rule,  and 
not  to  be  expected.  My  Mother's  way  of  putting  things  may 
have  been  inconsequent,  but  then,  one  never  had  the  slightest 
doubt  of  what  she  meant. 

Anyhow,  my  Father's  outside  remarks  frequently  reached  their 
audience,  and  laid  him  open  to  martyrdom  in  the  cause  of  free 
speech  many  times  before  the  incident  recorded — my  Mother's 
version  of  which  was  probably  authentic;  although  she  must  have 
had  some  of  it  on  hearsay. 

"  I  decline  to  repeat  his  language,"  said  Mr.  Wotherspoon  to 
Mr.  Fothergill,  "but  it  was  not  respectful,  and  I  should  say  he 
deserved  the  sack." 

"  Give  him  his  screw  and  put  on  another  warehouseman,"  said 
Mr.  Fothergill.  So  my  Father  had  to  accept  the  sack  on  the 
Saturday  following. 

I  was  a  small  boy  of  seven  at  this  time,  but  I  must  have  been 
observant,  from  the  vividness  of  my  recollection  of  the  events  of 
that  Saturday  afternoon.  My  young  mind,  catching  its  impres- 
sions from  my  Mother's  way  of  looking  at  the  situation,  and 
supported  by  the  cheerfulness  (which  may  have  been  partly  artifi- 
cial) with  which  my  Father  accepted  the  sack,  drew  the  inference 
that  my  Father  had  dismissed  Fothergill's,  and  was  now  open  to 
all  kinds  of  preferment  which  his  late  employers'  malice  had 
hitherto  prevented  reaching  him.  This  coloured  our  conversation 
as  we  walked  along  the  main  road  towards  London  after  the  family 
dinner.  I  accompanied  him  on  the  pretext  that  I  was  competent 
and  willing  to  prevent  his  taking  more  than  a  pint  at  the  Roe- 
buck. 

"Could  you  lick  three  men?"  I  said,  breaking  silence  dis- 
connectedly. 

"  Could  I  lick  free  men  ? "  repeated  my  Father  after  me.  "  In 
course  I  could !  Who's  to  prevent  me,  young  'un,  hay  ? " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  3 

I  was  silent  and  counted  sixteen  paving  stones  before  I  returned 
to  the  charge.  I  couldn't  count  seventeen  as  it  was  a  sudden 
introduction  of  a  new  metre,  so  to  speak,  into  the  counting.  So 
I  resumed  my  enquiries. 

"  Could  you  lick  three  men  if  two  of  'em  was  policemen  ? " 

"  That's  accordin'  to  who  the  other  might  be,"  said  my  Father 
after  reflection,  which  convinced  my  simplicity  that  he  was  re- 
plying in  good  faith. 

"  Could  you  lick  three  men  if  one  of  them  was  Mr.  Fothergill 
and  two  of  'em  was  p'licemen  ? "  This  was  a  home-thrust,  and 
my  Father's  prompt  counter-stroke  showed  that  he  appreciated 
the  connection  with  the  recent  conversation  at  dinner. 

"If  one  of  'em  was  Mr.  Fothergill  I  could  lick  six,  and  if 
two  of  'em  was  Mr.  Fothergill  and  Mr.  Wotherspoon  I  could  lick 
twelve." 

I  accepted  this  as  meaning  that  the  intense  insignificance  of 
the  two  would  act  as  a  drawback  on  the  effectiveness  of  the  police 
force;  and  I  believe  now  that  my  Father  intended  this,  and  did 
not  refer  to  any  stimulus  to  his  prowess  which  the  sight  of 
his  recent  employers  might  occasion.  But  I  felt  explanation 
was  necessary,  and  sought  for  it  in  my  Father's  remarks  at 
dinner. 

"  Is  that  because  you  expected  a  beggar  to  be  an  angel  ? "  was 
my  next  question.  For  my  Father  had  stopped  my  Mother  in 
some  too  lenient  view  of  Mr.  Wotherspoon's  conduct  with  "  An 
old  herring-gut  like  that  has  no  call  to  expect  a  poor  beggar  to 
be  a  angel,"  and  this  had  been  a  little  beyond  my  comprehension. 

"  What's  the  young  nipper  a-driving  at  ? "  said  my  parent.  "  I 
tell  you  what,  young  man,  if  young  beginners  are  going  to  ask 
questions  as  if  they  was  blooming  grandmothers,  we  shall  never 
get  to  this  here  public  house." 

"  This  one  ain't  the  Roebuck,"  said  I,  as  my  Father  pushed 
me  through  a  swing  door  into  a  sound  of  bad  men  and  a  smell 
of  worse  beer. 

"  No,  it  ain't,  and  I  ain't  a-going  to  it.  If  I  goes  to  the  Roe- 
buck I  ain't  at  liberty,  accordin'  to  my  ideas  of  honour,  to  take 
more  than  a  pint.  I  want  p'r'aps  a  pint  and  a  'arf,  and  I  comes 
in  here. — Quart  o'  four  ale,  Miss !  " 

The  equivocation  did  not  seem  wrong  to  my  infant  mind;  in 
fact,  it  impressed  me  as  doing  my  Father  credit,  and  made  me 
resolve  to  try  to  be  equally  honourable.  But  the  ordering  of  the 
quart  brought  a  doubt  into  my  face,  to  which  my  Father  yielded 
an  explanation. 


4  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"'Arf  a  pint  for  the  young  nipper,  and  three  'arf -pints  for 
daddy — that's  the  Arithmetic!  What  the  nipper  don't  drink  of 
his  'arf-pint,  I  drinks  for  his  sake — so  he  mayn't  get  drunk, 
which  at  seven  is  vice." 

The  nipper  didn't  drink  much  of  the  half -pint,  fortunately  for 
him,  and  his  Father  performed  the  act  of  altruism  imposed  on 
him.  Having  done  so,  his  attention  appeared  to  be  attracted  by 
something  inside  the  pewter. 

"  Strike  me  blind,"  said  he,  "  if  there  ain't  a  bloody  little  hin- 
seck  at  the  bottom  of  the  pot !  "  * 

There  was,  apparently,  and  he  fell  out  with  a  heeltap  of  beer 
on  the  metal  counter,  out  of  my  sight. 

"Pick  me  up,  Daddy,"  said  I.  "For  to  see  the  hinseck,"  I 
added  by  way  of  explanation.  I  can  remember  now  exactly  how 
my  Father's  hand  felt  as  he  grasped  me  by  the  trousers  and  lifted 
me  up,  and  the  sound  of  his  question.  "  What  de  young  sucking 
bantams  want  with  insects  ?  " 

"  He'll  be  for  crockin'  him,"  said  a  Sweep  with  inflamed  eye- 
lids. "  Crock  him,  yoong  'un,  with  your  finger  nail." 

But  my  Father,  who  was  getting  towards  the  quarrelsome  stage 
of  beer,  interposed  upon  the  suggestion,  not  from  any  human- 
itarian motives,  but  in  order  to  contradict  the  Sweep. 

"This  here  hinseck,"  he  said,  "come  out  of  my  beer,  wot  I 
paid  for,  square.  Consequent  this  here  hinseck  I  account  as 
my  hinseck — and  this  here  son  of  mine  has  been  too  well  educated, 
though  young,  to  presoom  to  crock  this  here  hinseck  unless  I  give 
leave. — Hay,  young  'un?  Or  for  that  matter,"  added  my  parent 
with  a  sudden  aggressive  enlargement  of  his  claim — "  any  one 
else." 

"  Any  one  else,  wot  ? "  said  the  Sweep. 

My  Father,  instead  of  answering,  addressed  himself  over  the 
bar  to  the  young  lady  thereof,  as  an  umpire  secure  from  intimida- 
tion behind  a  fortress  of  brass  and  pewter. 

"I  ask  you,  Miss,"  said  he,  "have  I  said  or  have  I  not  said 
clear  and  plain,  that  I  regard  this  here  hinseck  as  belonging? 
And  have  I  said  or  have  I  not  said,  equally  clear  and  plain,  that 
if  any  man  (or  for  that  matter  any  other)  was  to  presoom  to  crock 
this  hinseck  on  this  here  counter,  I  would  fetch  him  a  smack 
over  the  mouth  ?  " 

The  young  woman  was  filling  one  pot  alternately  at  two  taps 
and  had  taken  too  little  from  tap  number  one.  So  she  had  to 

*  I  am  sorry  my  father  made  use  of  this  offensive  adjective  •,  bat  as  he  did  so, 
and  I  distinctly  recollect  it,  I  feel  bound  to  record  it 


JOSEPH   VANCE  5 

exercise  great  discretion  in  stopping  tap  number  two  at  the  right 
moment.  When  she  had  done  this,  she  referred  again  to  number 
one,  and  it  being  an  easy  task  to  merely  fill  up  to  the  brim,  she 
took  the  opportunity  to  reply  to  my  Father. 

"  Can't  say  I  heard  any  such  expression.  Fourpence,"  the  last 
word  referring  to  the  transaction  in  hand. 

"Anyhow  you  put  it,"  said  the  Sweep,  "I'd  crock  him  myself 
for  a  farden." 

And  without  waiting  for  any  security  of  payment,  he  did  it 
straightway,  over  my  shoulder. 

I  glanced  around  to  see  the  effect  of  the  smack.  It  had  fol- 
lowed the  provocation  so  quickly  that  the  Sweep's  hand  was  not 
back  in  time  to  stop  it. 

"All  outside.  Nothing  in  here.  Nor  yet  in  the  street." 
Thus  far  the  lady  of  the  beer-handles — I  was  close  to  her;  so  I 
heard  her  voice  above  the  tumult  of  awakened  partisanship 
which  filled  the  bar  the  moment  after  the  smack.  I  heard  that, 
and  I  noted  with  some  disappointment  that  the  smack  had  not 
been  over  the  Sweep's  mouth.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever 
had  a  doubt  of  my  Father's  infallibility. 

"Eight  you  are,  Miss."— "  Git  'em  outside."— " Git  'em  round 
the  Kents  and  down  the  lane."—"  Git  'em  round  the  bark  o'  Chep- 
stow's,  and  across." — "  Git  'em  along  the  Gas-gardens — land  to 
let  on  building  lease — that  '11  do,  shove  along — land  to  let  on 
building  lease.  If  a  copper  don't  spot  you,  you'll  'ave  it  quiet 
enough  for  'arf  an  hour.  Git  your  man  out;  we'll  git  ours." 

"  Don't  let  the  child  go  after  them,"  said  the  bar  lady. — But  the 
child  had  slipped  down  off  the  bar,  and  the  only  person  left  to 
stop  him  was  too  drunk  to  take  instructions — had  he  not  been 
so,  he  would  have  been  sober  enough  to  follow  the  rabble.  The 
child  was  outside  the  swing  door  just  in  time  to  see  the  tail  of 
the  crowd  turn  a  corner  and  disappear.  But  he  could  have  fol- 
lowed even  guided  only  by  the  scattered  pursuing  units  that 
came  from  far  behind  him,  endowed  with  a  mysterious  knowledge 
(acquired  Heaven  knows  how)  that  there  was  a  fight,  and  that  it 
would  be  to  be  found  (if  not  too  late)  acrost  the  Gas-gardens  on 
some  land  with  a  board  up — and  that  you  were  on  no  account  to 
turn  round  by  the  eel  shop,  but  follow  on.  This  came  hoarsely 
from  one  swift  of  foot  as  he  passed  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg, 
who  said  sadly,  "  T'other  side  Chepstow's.  It  '11  be  done  afore  I 
ever  gets  there."  He  added  that  he  was  by  nature  unfortunate, 
and  was  always  a-missing  of  everything. 

"  So  I  just  gives  in,  I  does,"  said  he.     "  What's  the  young 


6  JOSEPH   VANCE 

beggar  roaring  about  ?  l  It's  moy  Father ! — It's  moy  Father ! ' 
What's  your  Father?" 

"  It's  his  Father  what's  a-goin'  to  fight,"  struck  in  another 
runner,  speaking  rapidly.  "He's  a-goin'  for  to  fight  Mr.  Gunn, 
the  buttin'  Sweep,  down  the  Rents  and  beyont  the  Piannerforty 
works,  and  you  better  look  sharp  if  you  want  for  to  see  anythink." 

How  on  earth  these  particulars  had  been  acquired  I  cannot 
imagine,  but  they  revived  the  failing  energies  of  the  wooden  leg 
in  a  miraculous  way.  The  owner  forgot  my  howls  in  his  intensi- 
fied interest,  and  resolving  to  "try  it  on  anyhow,"  stumped  away. 

I  followed  on  as  fast  as  my  small  legs  would  carry  me,  but 
concealing  my  despair — for  a  laundress  had  shown  a  disposition 
towards  commiseration  and  I  didn't  want  to  be  stopped  by  benevo- 
lence or  any  other  motive.  The  stragglers  got  fewer  and  farther 
between  till  they  were  revived  by  the  new  event  of  a  police-con- 
stable, to  whom  particulars  appeared  to  be  needless,  as  he  merely 
said,  "Shut  up,  all  on  yer!"  in  reply  to  volunteered  information. 
This  last  group  vanished  round  a  corner,  and  I  panted  after  it. 
But  I  was  getting  frightened  of  what  I  might  see  when  I  arrived. 
I  believe  that  had  my  Father  really  "landed"  on  the  Sweep's 
mouth  I  should  have  gone  on  confident.  But  my  faith  had  been 
shaken,  and  I  went  slower,  wiping  my  eyes  and  recovering  my 
breath. 

I  saw  nothing  of  the  fight.  I  was  only  in  time  to  see,  across 
the  canal  as  I  stood  near  the  wooden  foot-bridge,  a  returning 
crowd  and  a  group  it  left  behind.  The  crowd  was  returning  as 
a  cortege  of  certain  Policemen,  who  had  come  mysteriously  from 
the  four  quarters  of  heaven,  and  were  conducting  a  black  object, 
which  I  could  see  from  the  raised  platform  of  the  bridge  was  the 
Sweep  who  had  crocked  the  insect.  I  looked  for  my  Father  in 
vain.  Then  my  eyes  went  across  to  the  group  across  the  water, 
and  in  the  middle  of  it  distinguished  a  motionless  figure  on  the 
ground,  and  I  knew  it  was  my  Father. 

I  had  before  me  a  plain  issue  of  Duty,  to  be  done  or  left  un- 
done; and  I  should  be  glad  to  think  that  in  after  life  I  had  always 
shown  the  resolution  that  I,  a  midget  between  seven  and  eight, 
showed  on  this  occasion.  I  never  hesitated  a  moment.  The 
Sweep  had  killed  my  Father,  and  I  could  hear  his  bellowings  of 
triumph  as  he  came  along,  the  centre  of  an  admiring  audience 
conducted  by  two  Policemen.  I  cannot  repeat  them  in  full,  but 
they  recorded  his  conviction  that  the  method  he  had  employed  (I 
heard  what  it  was  later)  was  the  correct  way  to  do  the  dags  of 
*uch  a  one  as  his  late  opponent.  The  terms  he  applied  to  him 


JOSEPH  VANCE  7 

could  only  be  reported  if  it  were  certain  that  their  meaning  to 
my  readers  would  be  as  obscure  as  they  then  were  to  me.  They 
did  not  seem  to  me  to  make  the  fact  that  he  had  killed  my  Father 
(as  I  thought)  any  the  worse.  All  that  was  left  was  to  look  for 
a  missile.  I  saw  one  with  a  fragment  of  "Bass's  Bitter"  label 
left  on  it,  lying  against  a  dead  cat  by  the  pathway,  a  horrible 
jagged  piece  of  glass.  And  in  the  middle  of  my  recollection  of 
that  unwholesome  dream,  I  see  that  jagged  piece  of  glass  and 
that  cat's  head,  and  the  string  tight  round  his  throat  that  had 
strangled  it,  as  clear  as  I  saw  it  then.  There  was  a  round  side  to  it 
to  hold  it  by,  so  I  was  able  to  close  my  hand  well  on  it.  On  came 
the  Sweep  and  the  Policemen's  hats  (they  wore  hats  in  those  days), 
and  the  admiring  throng.  On  they  came  to  the  bridge,  and  the 
tramp  on  the  mud  changed  resonantly  to  tramp  on  the  planks. 

"  I  could  larn  you  two  bloody  orficers  a  lesson  sim'lar  to  that 
other  ...  if  I  chose  to,  but " 

But  no  one  ever  knew  the  reason  of  Mr.  Gunn's  forbearance ;  for 
his  last  word  merged  into  a  hideous  yell  as  the  jagged  bottle-end 
pierced  his  eye.  It  was  by  the  merest  chance  that  I  hit  him.  Of 
course  I  had  aimed,  but  what  is  the  aim  of  a  child  of  seven? 
Anyhow,  it  went  to  the  right  place — and  the  howls  and  curses  of 
its  human  target  bore  witness  to  its  arrival. 

I  had  been  concealed  behind  a  scrap  of  fence  at  the  bridge  end 
when  I  made  my  shot.  But  so  had  two  other  boys — barefooted 
street  Arabs  of  the  sort  the  Board-Schools  have  cleared  away. 
And  these  boys  seeing  instantly  that  my  crime  would  be  ascribed 
to  them  as  universal  culprits,  scapegoats  of  humanity,  exclaimed 
to  each  other  in  the  same  breath,  "Make  yer  'ooks,  Matey!" — 
and  bolted  one  to  the  left  and  one  to  the  right,  but  keeping  within 
whistling  and  yelling  distance.  An  amiable  young  Policeman  fol- 
lowed at  a  walk,  on  a  line  of  pursuit  bisecting  the  angle  of  the 
two  lines  of  flight.  He  caught  neither  of  the  fugitives  of  course, 
but  he  rejoined  the  procession  at  the  nearest  doctor's  shop,  having 
slipped  round  by  another  road  to  avoid  humiliation;  and  Mr. 
Gunn  was  taken  in  for  provisional  treatment  at  the  expense  of  the 
authorities. 

I  was  convinced  my  Father  was  killed,  and  too  terrified  to  wait 
and  see  the  second  procession  that  I  knew  must  cross  the  bridge 
later  on;  besides,  there  was  Mother!  So  I  left  the  crowd  gazing 
blankly  at  two  bottles  of  "show  colour,"  and  one  leech,  in  the 
shop  window;  and  set  out  for  home,  too  heart-broken  and  scared 
even  to  feel  the  satisfaction  of  revenge. 

Halfway  I  met  two  Policemen  bearing  a  stretcher.     I  knew 


8  JOSEPH  VANCE 

what  was  coining  back  on  that  stretcher.  I  had  no  need  of  the 
information  volunteered  by  another  boy,  rather  older  than  I. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  that  is,  you  little  hass  ? "  said  he,  seeing 
my  gaze  fixed  on  it.  "That  there's  the  stretcher  fur  to  put  the 
beggar  on  what's  dead.  Straight  out  flat!  Then  he'll  have  a 
funeral,  he  will — corpses,  'earses,  plooms,  mutes !  " — And  he  began 
a  sort  of  pantomime  of  solemn  obsequies;  but  as  perhaps  he 
felt  the  cast  was  insufficient,  gave  it  up  and  danced. 

The  whole  thing  was  getting  more  and  more  of  a  nightmare, 
and  I  was  consciously  becoming  incapable  of  finding  my  way 
home.  I  began  calling  aloud  for  my  Father  to  come  and  help  me, 
even  while  I  knew  what  had  happened,  and  that  he  could  not. 
Then  I  heard  a  stumping  on  the  pavement  behind  me,  and  recog- 
nized it  as  the  wooden  leg  of  an  hour  ago.  I  felt  that  its  owner 
was  almost  an  old  friend,  especially  when  he  too  recognized  me. 

"Who's  this  here  little  chap  a-hollering  for  his  Father?  He's 
number  two,  this  is. — No — he  ain't, — by  gum!  It's  the  very  same 
over  again,"  and  then  his  voice  changed  as  he  added :  "  Look  here, 
old  man,  I'll  give  you  a  lift.  Wipe  your  eyes.  Where  do  you 
want  to  go  to  ? " 

"  Stallwood's  Cottages,  No.  13.  It's  the  only  house,  please,  that 
hasn't  no  name  on  the  door,  and  it's  next  door  to  the  laundry." 

'•There  ain't  no  such  place,"  struck  in  the  boy  who  had  called 
me  a  little  ass,  and  who  I  really  believe  was  a  fiend  in  human 
form.  "Don't  you  believe  him.  He's  a-kidding  of  yer." 

But  the  wooden-legged  man  seemed  to  be  endowed  with  insight 
into  character;  for,  merely  remarking  that  he  would  half  mur- 
der the  speaker  if  he  ever  laid  hands  upon  him,  he  swung  me  on 
his  shoulder  and  stumped  on.  The  fiend,  however,  having  ac- 
quired a  sort  of  footing  in  the  affair,  didn't  mean  to  be  left  behind, 
and  pursued  us  as  close  as  he  dared. 

"'Arf  murder  me  if  yer  like — I  give  leave!  You  may  'ole 
murder  me  too  if  yer  like,  if  yer  ever  find  such  a  s'elp-me-Goard 
place " 

And  more  to  the  same  effect.  But  even  the  attempt  to  throw 
the  statement  into  the  form  of  an  affidavit  did  not  influence  the 
wooden  leg,  which  went  steadily  on,  growing  less  and  less  per- 
ceptible to  my  failing  senses,  until  at  last  it  became  a  mere 
rhythmic  accompaniment  to  a  dream  that  I  forgot  as  I  woke  to 
find  myself  deposited  on  the  pavement,  and  the  voice  of  my  bearer 
saying :  "  Right  you  are,  old  chap !  No  name  on  the  door,  and 
next  door  to  the  laundry.  You  git  along  in  sharp  and  go  to 
bed." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  9 

And  then  in  answer  to  my  unspoken  question  (for  the  words 
wouldn't  come),  he  added:  "Never  you  fret  your  kidneys  about 
your  Father!  He  ain't  dead!  Trust  him! — he'll  live  to  be  con- 
cerned in  many  quarts  yet.  Good-bye!" 

And  he  whistled  "Lucy  Neal"  and  stumped  off. 

I  did  not  share  his  confidence  about  my  Father,  but  he  had 
cheered  me  up.  Had  he  been  altogether  fallible,  he  would  have 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  misstatements  of  the  funeral  boy.  And 
him  he  had  simply  flouted!  So  I  collected  my  courage,  and 
jumped  up  to  the  bell-handle, — which  was  a  pull-down  one,  or  I 
couldn't  have  rung  it, — I  heard  voices  inside,  and  my  Mother 
came  to  the  door. 

"Bless  my  soul,  it's  Joe  without  his  Father  again!  Joseph, 
you  let  your  Father  go  to  the  Roebuck !  Where  is  he  now  ? " 

I  was  far  more  afraid  of  telling  the  awful  truth  to  my  Mother 
than  I  had  been  of  anything  else  on  that  dreadful  afternoon,  so 
I  resolved  to  give  details  later  on.  I  had  just  enough  voice  in 
me  for  my  Mother,  stooping  down  to  my  level,  to  hear  me  ex- 
onerate the  Roebuck,  which  I  could  do  truthfully. 

"Then  if  your  Father  didn't  go  to  the  Roebuck  what  for  are 
you  crying?  Where  did  you  leave  him?" 

I  affirmed,  truthfully,  that  I  saw  him  last  a-going  away  with 
several  men  towards  the  canal.  I  added,  untruthfully,  that  I 
had  losted  my  way,  and  the  boys  told  me  wrong.  I  thought  my 
Mother  was  going  to  slap  me.  It  would  have  made  my  mind 
happier  if  she  had.  But  she  only  said,  "Dearie  me,  whoever 
would  be  a  woman!  You  come  along  and  get  to  bed  and  go  to 
sleep  at  once,  and  no  nonsense."  I  was  very  soon  wiping  my 
eyes  on  a  small  dirty  nightshirt,  and  contributing  an  occasional 
sob  to  the  conversation  that  went  on  in  the  next  room.  I  had 
declined  supper,  not  so  much  because  I  did  not  want  it,  as  to  get 
out  of  sight  and  cry  in  the  dark.  I  should  now  wonder  more  at 
myself  for  this,  if  I  had  not  behaved  in  the  same  way  fifty  times 
since;  indeed,  the  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrows  has  always  been  to 
me  not  what  the  poet  sings,  but  the  communication  of  bad  news 
to  happy  unsuspicion.  I  always  feel  as  I  then  felt;  as  if  it  was 
my  fault  and  /  was  responsible! 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  child?"— Thus  the  conversation 
ran  on  between  my  Mother  and  her  neighbour,  Mrs.  Packles, 
from  Packleses  laundry  next  door,  who  had  come  in  to  tea  and 
gossip. 

"  It's  to  be  hoped  nothing's  the  matter  ser'ous,  Mrs.  Vance." 

"Law,  Mrs,  Packles,  Ma'am,"  said  my  Mother,  "if  I  was  to 


10  JOSEPH   VANCE 

worrit  every  time  Vance  comes  home  late,  there'd  never  be  an  end. 
Your  petticoat  is  a-scorching." 

"  It  ain't  my  best.  If  you  was  to  spare  me  the  toasting  fork, 
now  your  piece  is  browned,  I  wouldn't  spoil  the  knife-end  in  the 
fire  over  mine.  Being  likewise  the  butter  knife." 

"  I  was  looking  for  it." — And  my  Mother  began  to  butter  her 
piece  (as  I  could  hear  by  the  scraping),  but  she  stopped  uneasily 
and  came  into  the  bedroom  and  looked  at  me.  I  pretended  to  be 
asleep.  She  kissed  me,  making  matters  ten  times  worse;  and  I 
suffered  pangs  of  conscience,  but  kept  my  counsel.  She  returned 
to  the  toast,  and  resumed  the  conversation. 

"It's  your  dress  scorching  now,  Mrs.  Packles — do  'ee  double  it 
back  like  I  do  mine." 

I  heard  Mrs.  P.  accept  the  suggestion. 

"Vance  is  that  particular  about  bloaters  that  I  was  thinking 
we  might  wait  till  he  comes?  Tea-time, — he  said.  One  bloater 
kept  back  to  be  done  later,  has  a  feeling  of  discomfort  when  you 
come  in  and  other  folks  has  finished.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Ma'am?" 

There  was  the  slightest  shade  of  asperity  in  the  question,  and 
I  read  in  it  that  Mrs.  Packles  had  looked  unsympathetic.  She 
also  said  something,  but  I  failed  to  catch  it,  owing  to  Mrs.  P. 
having  a  defect  in  her  speech.  Like  Timour,  she  had  only  one 
tooth  above  and  one  below;  but  then  they  didn't  extend  all  along 
the  gum,  like  his.  However,  she  had  the  reputation  of  being  a 
Tartar,  and  Mr.  Packles  used  to  confirm  this  report  in  public — 
perhaps  I  should  say  in  publics.  What  Mrs.  Packles  had  said 
evidently  reflected  on  my  Father. 

"No,  Ma'am,"  said  my  Mother.  "On  the  contrary,  Vance  is 
by  nature  a  sober  man — not  like  neighbours  of  his  I  could  name 
whose  habits  are  proverbial,  as  the  sayin'  is.  In  some  cases,  as 
you  know,  Ma'am,  the  smell  of  beer  is  transparent,  and  in  such, 
credit  is  given  undeserved.  In  others,  secrecy  throws  a  veil,  even 
I  am  told  in  high  places,  and  none  suspect.  But  Vance  was  ever 
that  open  nature!  However,  we  will  put  the  bloaters  on  the 
trivet  if  you  say  the  word." 

Mrs.  Packles  couldn't  say  the  word  for  the  reason  I  have  men- 
tioned, nor  any  word  distinctly.  But  I  understood  that  she 
waived  defence  of  Packles  against  my  Mother's  insinuation,  in 
consideration  of  the  bloaters.  Also  that,  to  avoid  the  quicksands 
the  conversation  had  so  narrowly  escaped,  she  passed  in  review 
the  condiments  or  accompaniments  to  bloaters  sanctioned  by 
judges.  I  heard  my  Mother's  answer :— 


JOSEPH   VANCE  11 

"  Accordin'  to  me,  Mrs.  Packles,  and  I  am  not  singular,  gin  on 
no  account!  Coffee  also,  though  no  objection  can  be  raised,  if 
popular  in  quarters,  is,  to  my  thinking,  contrary  to  bloaters. 
Now  to  'ot  tea  and  buttered  toast,  there  can  be  no  exception." 

I  felt  that  I  was  an  exception.  And  how  I  repented  my  rash 
renunciation  of  supper  while  under  excitement!  I  was  getting 
very  hungry,  and  there  was  no  prospect  of  relief  till  breakfast, 
unless  I  cut  into  the  conversation  and  risked  further  catechism 
about  my  afternoon.  So  I  lay  still  and  sucked  my  nightgown,  of 
which  I  can  distinctly  recollect  the  flavour  to  this  day.  I  only 
wish  it  had  been  an  accompaniment  of  bloaters  and  hot  tea  and 
toast.  Taken  alone,  nightgown  juice  is  not  nutritious. 

Mrs.  Packles  murmured  assent,  and  was  about  to  enlarge  on 
the  gratifying  topic  when  she  was  interrupted  by  a  footstep  out- 
side. 

"  It's  at  your  house,"  said  my  Mother ;  "  somebody  is  ringing 
the  laundry  bell." — And  Mrs.  P.  went  out  to  investigate.  A  dis- 
tant colloquy  followed,  between  a  man's  voice  and  Mrs.  Packles's 
substitute  for  one;  but  nothing  audible  to  me,  until  my  Mother's 
sudden — "  Well,  now !  " — following  on  something  she  heard  and  I 
did  not.  The  teacup  she  put  down  suddenly  spilled  and  clicked 
on  the  saucer;  but  she  disregarded  it  and  went  straight  out  after 
Mrs.  Packles.  Before  the  door  had  time  to  slam,  I  caught  the 
words — "Are  you  Mrs.  Vance?" — and  recognized  the  step  of  a 
Policeman  on  the  garden  path.  Then  followed  narrative  of  an 
unexcited  sort  from  the  Policeman,  sobs  and  exclamations  from 
my  Mother,  and  sympathy  from  Mrs.  Packles,  who  I  felt  sure  was 
endeavouring  to  claim  a  fulfilment  of  prophecy  recently  and 
clearly  made  by  herself. 

"Oh,  Joey,  Joey,  Joey!"  cried  my  Mother,  "go  to  bed  again 
this  minute.  Your  Father's  in  the  Hospital,  and  I  must  go  to 
him." 

I  had  got  out  of  bed  and  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of 
the  bedroom.  As  I  find  that  I  have  in  memory  a  picture  of  a 
small  boy  crying,  with  a  very  rough  head,  as  well  as  of  a  large 
Policeman  dripping  (for  it  was  raining  hard)  and  my  Mother 
pulling  a  hurried  shawl  on,  and  Mrs.  Packles  exhibiting  sym- 
pathy, with  the  slightest  flavour  of  triumph,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  the  fifty-odd  years  that  have  passed  since  then  have 
made  me  mix  what  I  actually  do  recollect  with  what  my  Mother 
told  me  many  times  later.  Otherwise  how  do  I  seem  to  myself  to 
see,  from  the  front  room,  that  small  boy  standing  in  the  doorway 
rubbing  his  grubby  little  face  with  his  nightgown? 


12  JOSEPH   VANCE 

Perhaps  I  went  back  to  bed;  perhaps  I  didn't!  Anyhow,  my 
next  clear  memory  is  of  sitting  by  the  fire  with  Mrs.  Packles,  and 
of  great  satisfaction  from  fresh  hot  toast,  which  Mrs.  Packles 
(who  remained  behind  by  request)  intentionally  made  the  vehicle 
of  much  less  butter  than  she  took  herself. 

I  don't  think  she  suspected  me  of  having  any  story  to  tell  be- 
yond what  she  had  already  heard — or  she  would  certainly  have 
pumped  me  for  it,  instead  of  making  the  conversation  turn  on 
the  moral  improvement  of  little  boys.  I  was  much  too  frightened 
to  tell  anything,  even  if  I  had  not  been  too  sleepy  and  greedy  at 
the  same  moment.  I  wasn't  hypocrite  enough  at  that  early  age  to 
pretend  I  wanted  to  know  what  the  Policeman  had  said.  Or  pos- 
sibly I  mistrusted  my  powers  of  playing  out  the  part,  if  I  em- 
barked on  enquiry  from  Mrs.  Packles.  Besides— it  didn't  matter! 
7  knew  what  the  Policeman  had  said  a  great  deal  better  than  I 
knew  what  Mrs.  Packles  was  saying  about  (1)  the  necessity  for  the 
young  to  curb  their  inherent  vices,  or  there  was  no  knowing,  (2) 
the  accumulation  of  misfortunes  all  but  herself  were  free  from, 
but  that  she  had  to  put  up  with,  (3)  her  patience  and  fortitude 
under  disaster,  and  (4)  her  power  of  anticipating  events  and  no 
attention  paid,  not  if  she  talked  herself  'oarse! 

Perhaps  if  I  could  have  kept  awake  I  should  have  known  what 
it  was  to  hear  Mrs.  Packles  under  a  further  drawback  from 
hoarseness.  But  sleep  overcame  me,  and  I  remember  no  more. 


CHAPTEK  H 

HOW  JOE  PREVARICATED.  OF  PORKY  OWLS  AND  A  SPORTING  CARD. 
HOW  JOE  WAS  A  WITNESS;  ALSO  OF  THE  REV.  MR.  CAPSTICK  AND  OF 
MR.  VANCE  AS  A  CONTROVERSIALIST.  HOW  JOE  VISITED  HIS  FATHER 
IN  THE  HOSPITAL. 

"JOEY,  you  naughty  story-telling  boy,  how  dare  you  tell  me 
your  Father  didn't  go  to  the  Roebuck  ? " 

These  were  the  first  words  I  heard  when  I  woke  on  the  Sunday 
morning  following.  My  reply  was  that  it  was  the  Hare  and 
Hounds.  I  sat  up  in  bed  rubbing  my  eyes,  and  gave  a  confused 
account  of  the  reasons  why  my  Father  had  chosen  the  latter.  I 
was  quite  under  the  impression  that  I  was  clearing  his  character' 
and  mine.  So  I  was  disappointed  when  my  Mother  called  me  a 
prevarication,  and  said  it  was  more  wicked  to  be  a  prevarication 
than  a  liar.  I  was  sorry  too  at  the  revelation  of  a  lower  deep 
than  lying,  the  evils  of  which  my  Mother  had  rubbed  well  into  me. 

"But  it's  his  Father's  doing,  thank  God,  not  mine,"  added  my 
Mother.  "He  makes  the  boy  as  bad  as  himself.  Though  that  I 
will  say  (and  him  a-lying  in  the  Infirmary  and  losing  the  use  of 
his  limbs),  poor  Mr.  Vance  is  by  nature  truthful  and  candid,  and 
what  he  says  to  the  child  is  'eedless,  and  partakes  of  the  nature 
of  a  joke." 

A  sympathetic  murmur  revealed  a  neighbour  with  an  exactly 
similar  experience  in  the  next  room.  She  wasn't  Mrs.  Packles, 
who  was  at  the  tub,  though  Sunday,  but  Mrs.  Owls  (or  perhaps 
Howells),  who  bore  testimony  to  identical  behaviour  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Owls  towards  his  son,  known  to  me  as  Porky  Owls, 
but  to  his  family  as  Bobby.  A  continuous  narrative  of  what  Mrs. 
O.  said  to  Mr.  O.  to  correct  this  vice  of  'oaxin'  had  to  be  ignored, 
as  my  Mother  wished  to  extract  information  from  me  of  what  I 
had  really  seen. 

"  Didn't  you  see  no  Sweeps  at  the  Roebuck,  Joey  dear  ? "  said 
she.  I  shut  my  lips  very  tight  and  shook  my  head. 

"  I  meant  the  Hare  and  Hounds." — I  nodded. — "  Now  open  your 
lips  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  or  I  feel  getting  that  short-tempered 
I  shall  slap  you." 

"  I  see  one  Sweep,"  said  I. 

13 


14  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  One  Sweep  bein'  by  name  ? "  said  my  Mother. 

"Mr.  Peter  Gunn.  And  he  crocked  a  hinseck  what  was  in 
Father's  'arf-quartern,  and  Father  fetched  him  a  smack  over  the 
mouth." 

I  feel  quite  loyal  even  now  when  I  remember  how  I  concealed 
that  the  smack  failed  to  reach  its  destination.  How  I  knew  Mr. 
Gunn's  name  was  Peter  I  cannot  say.  It  had  reached  me  some- 
how in  the  confusion. 

"  And  then,"  I  went  on,  "  all  the  whole  biling  went  out  of  the 
door  and  up  the  street  and  round  the  lane  and  acrost  the  canarl; 
and  the  loydy  in  the  bar  she  said,  '  Stop  the  child/  she  did.  But 
3he  was  inside  of  the  bar  and  couldn't  get  no  holt  of  me,  and  I 
follered  and  iollered  'em  on  and  couldn't  cotch  'em,  and  I  got  lost, 
I  did.  And  then  the  boys  told  me  the  wrong  way,  and  it  was 
ever  such  a  long  time,  and  then  a  gentleman  with  a  wooden  leg  he 
gave  me  a  lift,  and  chucked  me  down  on  the  pavement  just  acrost 
the  way,  and  I  come  in  and  rang,  and  you  come  to  the  door." 

I  felt  it  politic  to  suppress  the  bottle  end,  and  my  playing 
David  to  the  Sweep's  Goliath.  I  didn't  know  what  developments 
might  follow  if  I  told  the  whole  story.  But  I  was  consoled  for 
this  amount  of  prevarication  by  the  rigid  truthfulness  of  my 
last  words. 

"  Now,  is  that  all  ? "  said  my  Mother.  "  Don't  shut  your  mouth 
and  nod  in  that  aggravating  way.  What  do  you  say  when  you 
speak?"— I  said,  "That's  all!"— "Very  well,  then,"  said  my 
Mother,  "now  get  up  and  clean  yourself  for  Sunday." 

Sunday  passed  miserably  for  my  Mother  and  myself,  but  joy- 
ously for  the  neighbours,  who  fairly  gloated  over  the  satisfaction 
they  derived  from  their  sympathy  with  my  Mother.  It  appeared 
on  recapitulation  that  for  weeks  past  a  sort  of  Greek  Chorus  of 
prophecy  had  been  performed  by  them,  each  having  at  some  time 
or  other  predicted  the  whole,  or  most,  of  yesterday's  events.  I 
don't  think  that  any  of  those  who  had  foretold  that  Vance  would 
come  to  grief  from  his  pugnacity  had  actually  named  a  Sweep 
who  could  butt,  but  short  of  that  almost  every  feature  of  my 
Father's  disaster  was  claimed  as  a  fulfilment.  In  the  course  of 
the  day  further  particulars  of  this  hideous  Sweep  and  his  accom- 
plishment came  to  hand.  Porky  Owls  (who  was  about  ten  years 
old)  had  the  good  fortune  to  gather  a  narrative  of  the  fight  from 
a  Sporting  Card's  conversation  with  some  other  Cards  at  the 
BeePus  in  North  Street  with  Barclay  Perkins  Entire  wrote  up 
big.  The  Card's  opinion  was  that  though  Vance  was  not  to  say 


JOSEPH  VANCE  15 

drunk,  it  would  be  short  of  the  truth  to  say  he  was  mops  and 
brooms.  Anyway,  he  was  the  worse,  and  shouldn't  have  been 
allowed  to  fight.  The  Card  was  a  good  authority  on  such  a  point; 
for  he  had  yaller  leather  storkins,  goyters  they  call  'em,  with 
white  buttons,  and  a  'at — and  he  smoked  a  sighgyar  and  knocked 
off  the  hash  with  his  little  finger.  And  he  says,  "  Gunn,"  he  says, 
"  goes  straight  for  his  man's  stummick  with  his  head.  Oh  yes," 
he  says,  "  Vance  he  landed  a  good  round  blow,  a  square  one,  on 
Gunn's  head  as  he  come, — would  have  stopped  you  or  me, — but 
Gunn  he  says  '  That's  my  nut,'  he  says,  and  down  goes  his  man 
on  his  back!  He  ketches  of  'im  round  the  legs  like.  Vance,"  he 
says,  "  come  twice  to  time,  but  where's  the  use  with  a  man  what 
can  crosh  you  to  a  quart-pot  with  his  head  for  a  shillin'  and  for 
'arf-a-sovering  will  putt  you  down  a  walnut  on  a  stone  floor,  and 
come  down  on  it  with  his  'ed,  and  'and  it  you  cracked  for  eatin' 
and  him  not  a  penny  the  worse  ?  What  become  of  Vance  ? "  he 
says.  "  Well,  what's  left  of  him's  gone  to  the  Oarsepital."  And 
Porky  imitated  the  laugh  with  which  the  narrative  concluded. 
He  further  heard  that  some  on  'um  was  for  arskin'  if  it  was  fair 
play;  and  the  Card  replied  in  substance  that  when  all  the  umpires 
were  drunk,  errors  were  apt  to  creep  in.  But  there  seemed  to  have 
been  a  verdict  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Gunn  was  entitled  to  the 
full  advantage  of  his  hard  skull.  It  depended,  of  course,  on  how 
low  you  butted. 

Porky  also  was  able  to  inform  me  that  when  the  coppers  was 
a-conductin'  of  Gunn  to  the  Station,  some  boys  was  a-aimin' 
and  one  of  'em  heaved  a  bit  of  broken  glast,  and  it  cotched  Gunn 
in  the  eye.  The  boys  they  got  away,  and  Porky's  soul  rejoiced, 
not  from  any  malice  against  their  victim,  but  because  they  were 
boys,  necessarily  in  league  against  all  other  classes.  I  kept  my 
own  counsel. 

"  Well,  I  never,"  said  my  Mother,  after  another  interview  with 
a  Policeman  who  called  during  my  interview  with  Porky  Owls. 
"  I  do  declare  here's  Joey  will  have  to  go  to-morrow  as  a  witness, 
and  he  don't  even  know  what  a  witness  is." 

"I  do,"  said  I,  indignantly,  "Barclay  Perkins  is  a  licensed 
witness.  So's  Mr.  Shillibeer  at  the  Roebuck." 

"That's  a  licensed  witt'ler,  bless  the  boy,"  said  my  Mother, 
laughing.  "  Well,  Joey,  you'll  have  to  go,  and  you  must  mind 
and  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

"  The  whole  truth  about  everything?  "  I  asked.  An  affirmative 
nod  from  my  Mother.  I  pondered  deeply  on  this,  as  it  seemed 


16  JOSEPH   YANCE 

to  me  what  it  is  the  slang  nowadays  to  call  a  large  order — and 
later  education  has  confirmed  this  view.  I  resolved,  however,  to 
tell  the  truth  about  everything  in  the  universe,  except  the 
broken-bottle  incident.  I  was  convinced  that  revelations  on  that 
point  would  mean  that  that  frightful  Sweep  would  one  day  catch 
me  and  crock  me  with  his  thumbnail  as  easily  as  he  did  the 
insect. 

Monday  morning  saw  my  Mother  and  myself  on  our  way  to 
a  crowded  Police-Court,  where  we  were  destined  to  spend  the  best 
part  of  the  day  waiting  for  me  to  be  called  as  a  witness.  As  a 
very  small  boy,  packed  in  flush  with  the  lower  halves  of  a  stuffy 
crowd  of  disreputable  grown-ups  cannot  be  expected  fifty  years 
later  to  be  very  clear  about  the  proceedings,  I  will  say  nothing  of 
them  until  our  case  is  called,  and  will,  so  to  speak,  employ  the 
time  we  are  waiting  in  explaining  one  or  two  points  without 
which  my  subsequent  interview  with  the  magistrate  as  a  witness 
might  be  incomprehensible. 

My  Father  was  a  very  ill-informed  man  on  religious  topics — 
so  much  so  that  he  imagined  that  the  phrase  "the  Religious 
Public "  meant  Mr.  Capstick's  Chapel  that  my  Mother  went  to 
on  Sundays,  and  sometimes  took  me  to.  He  conceived  of  it  as  a 
source  of  relief  for  spiritual  thirst,  as  the  Roebuck  and  its  like 
were  for  material  thirst.  He  was,  therefore,  ill-qualified  to  in- 
struct the  young.  My  Mother,  backed  by  Mr.  Capstick,  had 
endeavoured  to  supply  this  defect,  perhaps  I  should  rather  say 
Mr.  Capstick  backed  by  my  Mother.  But  my  capacity  for  mis- 
understanding was  great  or  the  Reverend  Benaiah's  instructions 
were  liable  to  misinterpretation. 

I  remember  especially  how  his  lessons  on  early  Jewish  history 
lost  value  owing  to  a  confusion  of  identities  which  a  person  of 
more  insight  would  have  foreseen  and  provided  against.  Even 
now,  Moses  the  Prophet,  and  Moses  and  Son  the  clothiers,  do  not 
discriminate  themselves  with  the  clearness  I  should  desire  at 
times.  My  error  was  found  out  and  corrected. 

"  There,  I  declare  now,"  said  my  Mother,  when  I  betrayed  my 
misconception,  "  if  that  child  hasn't  got  'old  of  the  idear  that 
Moseses  is  Moses !  " 

I  referred  the  matter  to  Porky  Owls,  who  derided  me  for  not 
knowing  the  difference.  The  former,  he  pointed  out,  were  Jews 
and  would  go  to  Hell;  and  the  latter  was  an  Israelite  and  would 
go  or  had  gone  to  Heaven,  being  in  the  Bible.  I  complimented 
Porky  on  his  erudition,  and  he  said,  "Yes,  Fm  a  wunner  at 
knowing  things,  I  ami" 


JOSEPH  VANCE  17 

However,  this  is  a  digression  from  a  digression. 

The  Reverend  Benaiah  Capstick's  strong  point  was  (and  it  was 
not  an  original  thought  of  his  own)  that  insomuch  as  it  was 
desirable  that  Grace  should  abound,  and  Grace  could  not  abound 
unless  sinners  were  forthcoming  to  supply  objects  of  Divine  For- 
giveness, it  was  therefore  right  and  fitting  that  that  class  of 
persons  should  be  encouraged  to  perform  their  heinous  function, 
and  thereby  make  manifest  to  Mr.  Capstick's  congregation  the 
Merits  of  the  Creator  of  the  Solar  System. 

My  Father  would  remark,  when  this  view  was  pronounced, 
that  he  for  one  would  be  very  'appy,  only  he  didn't  wish  to  in^ 
convenience  other  parties.  Mr.  Capstick  would  then  point  out 
that  in  a  case  where  the  interest  involved  was  so  great,  it  was  right 
to  sacrifice  others,  as  well  as  our  own  self-righteousness.  My 
Father  then  raised  new  objections.  "Wot  I  can't  make  out," 
said  he,  "is  this  here : — If  a  cove  goes  and  sins,  in  the  manner  of 
speaking,  to  oblige,  I'm  blowed  if  I  can  see  where  the  Merit 
comes  in  of  forgivin'  of  him." 

Mr.  Capstick  took  exception  to  the  manner  of  speaking,  but 
met  this  Prussian  attack  with  calmness.  "My  friend,"  said  he, 
"there  are  many  things  you  cannot  see.  Pray  for  enlightenment! 
In  the  case  you  suppose  we  cannot  doubt  but  that  the  sinner  who 
had  the  blasphemous  presumption  to  conceive  the  idea  of  obliging 
the  Almighty,  would  find  out  his  mistake  too  late,  like  the  foolish 
Virgins  in  the  parable.  Believe  me,  all  his  unrighteousness 
would  be  but  as  filthy  rags!  Sin  such  as  is  necessary  to  the 
existence  of  Grace,  and  in  accordance  with  the  Divine  Purpose, 
must  have  its  source  in  the  depravity  of  the  human  heart." 

My  Father  mused  a  little,  and  then  remarked  that  he  thought 
he  could  ackomerdate  him  at  that  too.  Anyhow,  he  knew  a  party 
as  could!  I  was  an  attentive  listener  to  the  discussion,  and 
accepted  it  all  in  such  good  faith  that  I  really  felt  a  little  sur- 
prised at  Mr.  Capstick's  not  at  once  asking  for  the  name  and 
address  of  the  party. 

My  memory  goes  back  from  recalling  as  much  as  I  have  been 
able  of  the  above  conversation  (and,  to  confess  the  truth,  to  hav- 
ing been  obliged  to  fill  it  out  in  order  that  it  should  be  intelli- 
gible— but  it  is  a  fair  report  in  the  main)  to  my  half-suffocated 
little  self  in  the  crowded  Police-Court.  After  long  waiting  I 
was  able  to  gather  that  the  next  charge  on  the  sheet  was  against 
Peter  Gunn  for  Breach  of  the  Peace — also  for  being  drunk  and 
threatening  the  Police  when  apprehended.  I  couldn't  really  hear 
the  mechanical  recitation  of  his  evidence  by  the  Policeman  who 


18  JOSEPH   VANCE 

had  been  first  on  the  spot,  but  I  caught  the  Magistrate's  enquiry 
at  the  end. 

"You  say  they  quarrelled  in  a  pot-house?  Is  there  anything 
to  show  which  provoked  the  fight  ? " 

The  answer  I  half  heard  seemed  to  me  to  be  that  there  was 
nothing  to  rely  on — which  really  meant  that  the  young  lady  at 
the  bar  was  the  only  credible  witness,  and  that  if  the  Police 
called  her  she  would  discontinue  gratuitous  supplies  to  the  con- 
stable on  duty.  But  there  was  a  boy,  Vance's  son;  mother  said 
he  had  a  version  of  the  matter  pretty  pat.  For  I  had  repeated 
my  tale  in  full  as  far  as  the  Hare  and  Hounds  went.  Was  the 
boy  here?  Yes.  So  the  boy  found  himself  confronting  the 
august  functionary  whom  he  had  usually  heard  spoken  of  as 
"the  Beak."  I  was  a  little  surprised  to  see  no  beak  in  the  ordi- 
nary sense.  But  I  heard  some  one  say  something  about  the  Box, 
and  thought  perhaps  the  Beak  was  in  the  Box,  and  that  the  gen- 
tleman at  the  table  meant  to  put  it  on  later.  My  Father  had  fre- 
quently dwelt  on  the  incredible  queerness  of  the  Starts  that 
obtained  in  Law  Courts.  So  I  was  prepared  for  anything  and 
acquiesced.  I  contemplated  the  Beak's  actual  profile  until  I 
found  myself  (unreasonably,  as  it  struck  me)  required  to  kiss  a 
book.  I  thought,  however,  I  should  be  equally  unreasonable  to 
refuse  or  demur,  so  I  kissed  it  with  a  very  loud  smack  to  show 
good-will,  and  then  saw  Mr.  Gunn  in  the  dock,  presenting  a 
frightful  appearance.  His  eye  was  bandaged  over  with  surgical 
skill,  and  his  face  did  not  impress  me  any  more  favourably  be- 
cause a  portion  of  it  had  been  washed  round  the  eye,  leaving 
the  remainder  black  with  a  streaky  penumbra  between.  I  shud- 
dered and  resolved  more  than  ever  to  be  a  prevarication,  at  what- 
ever risk  to  my  soul,  so  far  as  my  own  share  in  the  production 
of  this  hideous  vision  went. 

"  He  looks  a  very  small  boy,"  said  the  Magistrate.  And  the 
Police-Inspector,  who  seemed  to  represent  the  prosecution,  said: 
"Oh,  he's  sharp  enough.  He's  nine  year  old." — "Eight  in 
Orgust,"  said  I. — "  Eight  I  should  have  said,"  said  the  Inspector, 
as  if  it  didn't  matter.  "  You  speak  up,  old  chap,  and  tell  his 
Worship  what  you  saw  at  the  Pot'us." 

"  Moy  Father,  he  ordered  quart  o'  four  ale  and  giv'  me  some 
out  o'  the  pot.  Then  he  swallered  off  the  rest,  and  when  he  come 
to  the  end  he  says  strike  me  blind,  he  says,  if  there  ain't  a  hinseck 
in  this  here  pot.  And  he  totes  the  hinseck  out  on  the  bar  and  he 
histes  me  up  by  the  trousers  for  to  see  him.  Six  legs  he  had  and 
wings  like.  And  Mr.  Peter  Gunn  he  says,  'Crock  him,'  he  saysi 


JOSEPH  VANCE  19 

And  moy  Father  he  says,  not  if  he  knowed  it!  And  Mr.  Peter 
Gunn  he  crocks  him  hisself.  And  then  my  Father  he  fetches 
Mr.  Peter  Gunn  a  smack  over  the  mouth.  And  there  was  words, 
and  they  went  out  for  to  fight,  because  the  loydy  in  the  bar  said 
not  in  there." 

"  Does  this  child  know  the  nature  of  an  oath  ? "  said  the  Magis- 
trate. 

"You  know  where  little  boys  go  to  that  tell  fibs?"  said  the 
Police-Inspector.  "  Coorse  you  do !  Speak  up,  my  lad.  Where 
will  you  go  to  if  you  don't  speak  the  truth  ?  Bein'  on  oath,  mind 
you!" 

"If  I  tells  lies  I  shall  go  to  Heaven  because  of  the  Divine 
Grace,"  said  I,  boldly;  "Mr.  Capstick  says  so." 

The  Magistrate.—"  Who's  Mr.  Capstick?" 

Me. — "  Wot  keeps  the  Religious  Public  in  the  Orfington  Road." 

The  Magistrate. — "  And  Mr.  Capstick  says  you  go  to  Heaven 
for  telling  lies  ?  " 

Me. — "  That  Grace  may  abound — the  Grace  of  the  Lord." 

At  this  point  the  Inspector  had  to  interpose  with  some  elucida- 
tion, for  I  had  pickecl  up  Mr.  Capstick's  pronunciation  with  his 
Divinity.  After  which  I  pursued  my  narrative. 

"  And  Father  he  says,  '  That  cock  won't  fight.'  After  Mr. 
Capstick  had  gone,  you  know,"  I  added;  because  I  didn't  want  to 
give  the  impression  that  my  Father  had  risen  in  open  rebellion 
against  religious  instruction,  in  addition  to  his  other  sins. 

Magistrate. — "  And  what  did  your  Mother  say  ?  " 

Me. — "  Said  I  was  best  in  bed.  And  then  when  I  was  a-gittin* 
orf  my  trousers,  I  heard  Father  say  that  cock  wouldn't  fight. 
Sim'lar  I  heard  him  say  Mr.  Capstick  was  a  complicated  beggar 
to  hargue,  and  Mother  she  said  tell  truth  and  shame  the  Devil! 
But  Mr.  Capstick  is  a  good  and  blessed  gentleman,  she  says,  and 
such  we  ought  to  pray  for." 

"  A  boy  that  thinks  he  will  go  to  Heaven  for  telling  lies  is  not 
much  use  as  a  witness,  however  sharp  he  is.  Take  away  the  boy." 
Thus  the  magistrate,  and  I  was  taken  away  and  felt  disgraced. 

"  His  Father  is,  you  say,  in  a  bad  way  in  the  Infirmary  ?  " 

I  think  the  Inspector  or  the  Clerk  of  the  Court  handed  in  a 
medical  report,  and  the  Magistrate  said  "  Hm ! "  and  my  Mother 
said  "  Oh  law !  oh  gracious  I "  and  showed  symptoms  of  hysterics. 
And  somebody  said,  "Silence  in  the  Court! — Take  the  woman 
out  if  she  can't  be  quiet."  Then  there  was  some  more  discussion, 
in  which  I  think  I  heard  the  prisoner's  voice,  for  it  was  a  squeaky 
voice,  when  it  came  out,  like  a  costermonger's  that  misses  fire  aa 


20  JOSEPH  VANCE 

often  as  not — so  it  was  easily  recognizable.  His  platform,  as  we 
should  say  nowadays,  seemed  to  be  a  justification  of  butting. 
Great  interest  was  shown  by  a  husky  male  public.  Then  silence 
was  called,  and  the  Magistrate  got  his  turn  again.  "  This  court," 
he  said,  "  is  not  a  court  for  the  decision  of  questions  of  prize- 
fighting. If  one  man  is  killed  in  a  fight,  fair  or  foul,  the  other 
will  have  to  take  his  trial  for  manslaughter.  Provocation  might 
be  an  extenuating  circumstance.  In  this  case  there  is  no 
evidence  to  show  which  began  it.  Boy's  evidence  can't  be  ac- 
cepted. Gunn  will  have  to  go  to  gaol  unless  he  can  find  sureties. 
Next  case!  What's  the  next  charge,  Mr.  Bottle?" 

I  need  hardly  say  that  I  have  had  to  reconstruct  the  Magis- 
trate's remarks  from  later  experience.  In  this  last  speech,  though 
I  carried  away  the  meaning,  the  only  words  I  could  swear  to 
(now  that  I  fully  understood  the  nature  of  an  oath)  are  sureties 
and  Bottle,  and  in  respect  of  the  latter  I  disbelieve  my  own 
evidence.  I  don't  believe  that  Clerk  of  that  (or  any)  court  was 
named  Bottle,  nor  that  Inspector.  But  sureties  I  got  all  right 
as  far  as  the  sound  went;  only  I  misspelt  i,t  mentally  and  shud- 
dered with  dread  lest  I  should  be  one  of  the  shorties  Mr.  Gunn 
would  find.  So  I  was  very  glad  when  my  Mother  said  we  would 
go  away,  and  perhaps  if  I  was  good  they  would  allow  me  in  at 
the  Infirmary  to  see  Father! 

I  suppose  I  was  good,  as  they  allowed  us  both  in  at  the  In- 
firmary on  the  following  Wednesday.  It  wasn't  a  comfortable 
visit,  as  an  evil-minded  nurse  with  a  squint  impended  over  us  all 
the  time,  and  egged  us  on  to  completion  of  our  interview  almost 
before  we  had  begun  it.  "You'll  have  to  look  sharp,"  she  said, 
"the  Doctor's  coming."  But  when  she  said, — "You  must  clear 
out  now.  Time's  up," — no  Doctor  had  appeared.  I  didn't  believe 
in  that  Doctor. 

My  Father  didn't  seem  to  be  at  liberty  to  move,  but  his  eyes 
turned  round.  "  Is  that  the  young  nipper  ? " — he  said,  and  then 
added, — "  I'm  a-goin'  to  be  even  with  that  there  bloody  Sweep,  I 
am."  I  repeat  my  regret  for  having  to  record  this  expression;  but 
I  cannot  help  recollecting  it. 

"  Perhaps  the  Beak  will  have  him  hanged,"  said  I.  I  was  not 
informed  about  the  course  of  Justice  in  England,  and  my  Father 
corrected  me. 

"  He's  only  'arf  a  Beak  what  you  seen.  He  can't  only  send  for 
trial — and  then  only  for  manslaughter.  And  even  for  that  I 
should  have  to  die  first,  and  then  I  shouldn't  live  to  see  him 
convicted.  Onfair  and  onjust,  /  say  I" 


JOSEPH  VANCE  21 

"  But  his  eye  is  spiled,  Father,"  said  I. 

"  But  I  didn't  spile  it,"  said  my  Father. 

If  I  had  not  felt  that  the  evil  nurse  would  overhear  and  tell 
the  Sweep,  I  really  think  I  should  have  confessed  up.  However, 
I  decided  against  doing  so,  as  before,  and  launched  into  another 
topic. 

"  I  say,  Father !    Mother  says  we  ought  to  love  our  enemies." 

My  Mother  murmured  confirmation,  but  added  that  that  young 
Turk  (myself)  had  said,—"  Catch  me  at  it !  "  My  Father  laughed, 
and  the  evil  nurse  cut  in  with, — "  The  patient  is  not  to  laugh." 
So  he  stifled  the  laugh,  and  became  black  in  the  face.  When  he 
recovered  he  said,  "  On  what  accounts  did  you  say  that,  hay  ?  '* 
and  I  replied  that  I  would  love  them  fast  enough  if  they  would 
love  me.  And  my  Mother  said,  "But  then,  dear  Joey,  there 
wouldn't  be  no  enemies,  and  where  should  we  be  then?"  My 
Father  said,  "  That  would  never  do ! "  and  added  that  we  was 
a-gettin'  on  to  one  of  Mr.  Capstick's  Complicated  Mixtures;  by 
which  he  meant  that  we  were  getting  involved  in  delicate  ques- 
tions of  casuistry. 

"  Not  but  what  I  could  find  it  in  my  'art  to  forgive  that  bloody 
Sweep,"  he  went  on,  "but  if  you  come  to  considerin'  of  the 
conduct  of  the  party  what  put  that  brick  hedgewise  up  to  ketch 
me  in  the  small  of  the  back,  and  it's  wery  sure  that  you  may  fall 
and  fall  a  hundred  times  and  none  the  worse,  and  no  motive  but 
sheer  unquorlified  malice,  and  a  perfect  stranger." 

My  Father  forgot  that  he  had  begun  a  sentence,  or  saw  no  way 
to  a  grammatical  exit  from  it.  So  he  stopped  short  and  merely 
said  "  Damn  him !  "  My  Mother  suggested  the  possibility  of  un- 
designed accident  and  he  replied,  "  Accident  be  damned ! "  and 
the  evil  nurse  cut  in  again  with  "  That  patient  is  not  to  get 
excited  and  take  his  hands  out  of  bed,"  and  after  a  minute  01 
two  came  and  routed  us,  as  well  as  one  or  two  other  visitors,  and 
drove  us  forth  with  contumely,  refusing  information  about  the 
probabilities  of  the  case.  "  Can't  say  yet  awhile,"  was  all  we  got. 
"  Thank  you,  Ma'am,"  said  my  Mother — so  meekly  that  the  evil 
nurse  relented  and  made  the  concession  of  saying,  "7  shouldn't 
be  in  a  fuss  about  him,  if  7  was  you." 

There  was  a  vague  implication  in  this  (as  in  the  remarks  of  the 
wooden-legged  man)  that  my  Father,  owing  to  his  being  such  a 
mauvais-sujet,  had  special  powers  of  surviving  spinal  concus- 
sion. Their  forecast  was  certainly  right,  for  in  about  three 
weeks  he  was  fit  to  be  moved — or  at  least  was  moved,  and  escaped 
little  if  any  the  worse. 


CHAPTER  III 

OF  JOE'S  FATHER'S  CONVALESCENCE,  AND  OF  HIS  CONNECTION  WITH  A 
BENEFIT  CLUB.    OF  JOE'S  EIGHTH  BIRTHDA1 

LITTLE  MAN  SOLD  HIS  FATHER  A  SIGNBOARD. 


BENEFIT   CLUB.      OF   JOE's  EIGHTH  BIRTHDAY,   AND  OF   HOW  A  VERY 


OWING  to  my  Mother's  care  and  foresight  the  financial  strain 
resulting  from  my  Father's  being  thrown  so  long  out  of  work  was 
not  so  bad  as  it  might  have  been.  She  had  persuaded  him  to  be- 
come a  member  of  the  Workman's  Benefit  Club  two  years  before, 
and  he  had  paid  twelve  monthly  subscriptions.  But  throughout 
the  year  he  proclaimed  his  intention  of  stopping  the  subscrip- 
tion unless  some  accident  happened  to  enable  him  to  reap  the 
fruits  of  his  self-sacrifice.  No  one  could  make  him  understand 
that  there  was  any  sanguinary  use  (as  he  required  that  there 
should  be)  in  paying  the  price  of  so  many  quarts  of  ale  and  not 
getting  a  stiver  back  for  it.  I  asked  him  what  a  stiver  was,  and 
he  said,  "Never  see  one,  so  I  can't  say."  When  the  twelfth 
subscription  had  been  paid,  and  no  stiver  came  (to  my  regret, 
as  I  wished  to  know  about  it),  my  Father  told  my  Mother  she 
might  go  on  payin'  of  it  if  she  liked.  She  did  not  like,  but  she 
did  it,  out  of  the  scanty  proceeds  of  her  trade,  announced  in  the 
window  as  "Pinking  done  here,"  as  if  she  had  been  a  sort  of 
professional  duellist.  And  when  my  Father  came  to  grief,  she 
applied  for  a  weekly  payment  as  stipulated  in  the  Eules  of  the 
Society. 

I  believe  that  there  was  dissension  in  that  Society  on  the  ques- 
tion whether  Vance  was  entitled  to  this.  A  Peace-Party  appeared 
within  its  ranks,  and  its  Members  would  have  been  branded  as 
Sentimentalists,  Doctrinaires,  and  Faddists  had  the  Society  been 
acquainted  with  those  terms.  But  my  impression  is  that  they 
have  enriched  our  vocabulary  only  recently.  I  may  be  mistaken 
in  this,  but  it  is  certain  that  no  expression  stronger  than  bloody 
sneaks  ever  reached  my  ears.  The  view  of  the  Sneaks  was  that 
my  Father's  mishap  did  not  come  within  the  meaning  of  the 
Society's  Rules  as  an  accident,  and  that  he  was  entitled  to 
nothing.  The  opposite,  or  War-Party,  consisting  of  the  majority 
of  the  unofficial  members,  rose  as  one  man  and  denounced  this 

22 


JOSEPH  VANCE  23 

view.  It  supposed  that  the  Peace-Party  was  a-goin'  to  put  an 
end  to  all  fightin'  next.  The  fact  that  my  Father  was  in  liquor 
at  the  time  of  the  fight  also  procured  him  a  good  deal  of  sympathy 
— so  much  so  that  the  eight  shillings  a  week  he  received  was 
prolonged  (to  spite  the  Peace-Party)  a  good  deal  beyond  the 
appointed  limit.  I  gathered  these  points  from  my  Mother's 
conversation. 

"And  generous  and  right  I  call  it,"  she  continued,  "of  the 
Society  to  break  through  its  rules  for  Vance,  he  having  to  a 
very  great  extent  called  the  members  language.  But  his  'art  is 
that  good,  language  may  be  overlooked.  But  I  do  admit,  Ma'am, 
if  you  ask  me,  that  I  do  not  think,  strictly  speaking,  that  Vance 
was  entitled;  though  thankful,  I  need  hardly  say." 

The  reply  of  Mrs.  Packles  was  at  some  length,  but  was  abso- 
lutely unintelligible  to  me  from  beginning  to  end.  My  Mother's 
rejoinder  made  it  clear  that  Mrs.  P.  had  made  some  apology  for 
the  Peace-Party  or  Sneaks. 

"Yes,  Ma'am,"  she  said,  "excusable  if  not  animated  by  per- 
sonal motives.  But  with  such  can  we  wonder  if  Derision  is  pro- 
voked and  the  offendin'  Members  is  accosted  in  the  street  with 
application  for  a  tract?" — For  it  appeared  that  the  War-Party 
would  touch  its  hat  with  affected  humility  to  the  Peace-Party, 
and  apply  for  the  donation  of  a  tract,  as  my  Mother  said. 

Of  course  even  with  this  windfall  my  parents  were  very  hard 
up.  My  Father  ate  more  than  his  share  of  breakfast  and  dinner, 
as  an  invalid  who  required  feeding  up;  and  enjoyed  his  conva- 
lescence amazingly.  He  seemed  to  take  kindly  to  doing  nothing  at 
other  people's  expense,  and  spent  a  pleasant  two  months  or  more 
on  his  back,  devising  means  of  being  even  with  Peter  Gunn. 
Then  the  Doctor  of  the  Society  suggested  the  view  that  he 
wouldn't  recover  the  use  of  his  legs  until  his  allowance  was 
stopped. 

"Maybe  you're  right,  Mister,"  said  my  Father,  candidly,  "but 
you  won't  be  for  stopping  for  a  month  yet.  Make  it  a  month." 

The  Society  made  it  a  month,  and  the  patient,  as  soon  as  he 
had  obtained  a  pledge  to  that  effect,  took  up  his  bed  metaphori- 
cally and  walked.  His  pins  were  rather  dot  and  go  one,  he  said, 
but  he  looked  forward  with  confidence  to  being  even  with  the 
Sweep. 

In  the  meantime,  the  Society's  allowance  lapsing  at  the  end 
of  the  month,  it  became  imperative  to  my  Father  to  git  on  a  job. 
But  while  professing  feverish  anxiety  for  work  (for  its  own  sake, 
quite  irrespective  of  salary),  what  he  represented  as  an  hereditary 


24  JOSEPH  VANCE 

instinct  of  caution  prompted  him  to  delay  accepting  any  one  of 
the  numerous  offers  which  he  suggested  were  showered  upon  him. 
"I  ain't  a-goin'  to  jump  down  any  of  their  throats,"  he  said, 
"My  Father  warn't  the  man  to  throw  hisself  away,  and  your 
Father,  Joey,  he  takes  after  him." 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  analyzing  this,  which  seemed  to  me 
rather  like  a  Complicated  Mixture  of  Mr.  Capstick.  I  did  it, 
however,  with  the  result  that  I  could  not  reconcile  the  image  it 
gave  me  of  my  Grandfather  persecuted  with  applications  for  his 
services,  and  my  Father's  report  of  him  at  other  times. 

"  Drove  the  same  cab  he  did,  all  his  life,"  he  would  say,  "  and 
wery  nearly  the  same  prad."  I  had  to  rest  contented  with  a 
mixed  impression  of  my  ancestor,  and  to  accept  as  a  family  trait 
the  calmness  with  which  my  Father  spent  his  days  smoking  and 
so  forth  while  my  Mother  plied  her  industrious  scissors  at  the 
mystery  of  Pinking.  A  very  small  store  of  cash  at  a  Gothic 
Savings  Bank  standing  back  in  a  garden  in  the  Orpington  Road 
helped  out  our  small  resources  at  this  time,  or  I  don't  precisely 
know  what  we  should  have  fed  on. 

My  Father,  however,  did  not  (it  appeared  later)  spend  this 
interval  of  idleness  entirely  in  hatching  schemes  for  being  even 
with  the  Sweep.  He  apparently  thought  seriously  over  the 
advantages  which  the  Employer  has  over  the  Employed,  and  cast 
about  in  his  mind  for  the  best  means  of  becoming  one  him- 
self. 

My  first  information  to  this  effect  reached  me  one  fine  summer 
evening  in  August,  which  I  remember  the  more  vividly  because 
it  was  my  birthday  and  I  was  eight,  and  my  Father  had  given 
me  a  boxwood  peg-top  and  my  Mother  a  new  pair  of  socks  she 
had  made  herself.  This  day  had  been  a  fine  day  and  no  mistake 
— so  the  popular  verdict  said.  There  seems  too  often  in  these 
days  to  be  a  mistake,  and  we  feel  chilly  and  grown  old. 

"  Just  to  think  of  the  young  nipper  having  turned  eight ! "  said 
he.  "We  shall  be  a-havin'  of  him  eighty  next." 

This  seemed  so  illogical  that  I  felt  bound  to  say  something  in 
defence  of  the  intervening  seventy-two  years.  "  Well,  anywise, 
what  '11  you  be  next  year  ?"—"  Nine,"  said  I.— "Very  well,  then," 
said  my  Father,  "  we'll  let  it  go  at  that,  and  when  next  year  comes 
it  '11  be  time  enough  to  bust  our  bilers  over  it." 

I  accepted  this  as  a  compromise.  But  I  thought  it  very  unfair 
of  my  Father  to  add,  "You  see,  I  wasn't  so  very  far  wrong  after 
all."  I  was,  however,  prevented  from  returning  to  the  charge 


JOSEPH  VANCE  25 

by  the  appearance  of  a  very  little  man  indeed,  who  was  pushing 
a  truck  and  who  stopped  outside  our  gate. 

"I  suppose,  Guv'nor,"  said  he  to  my  Father,  "you  couldn't 
oblige  me  with  a  scrop  o'  wire  to  wire  out  the  hile  out  of  my  pipe. 
The  drorin'  of  it  is  stopped."  My  Father  made  no  remark,  but 
went  into  the  house. 

"  I  knowed  you  was  an  obligin'  Guv'nor,"  said  the  little  man. 

My  Father  returned  with  a  hairpin  of  my  Mother's.  "You 
can  have  that,"  he  said,  "  subject  to  bendin'  of  it  back  and  wipin' 
clean  after  use."  The  terms  were  accepted,  and  I  watched  the 
cleaning  of  the  pipe  with  great  interest.  It  was  so  short  a  pipe 
that  it  was  cleaned  without  straightening  the  hairpin.  The  little 
man  wiped  the  latter  on  his  neckcloth,  and  handed  it  back  to  my 
Father. 

"  With  many  thanks  to  yourself,  Guv'nor,"  said  he.  "  It's  wery 
seldom  I  find  myself  without  a  piece  of  wire,  and  I  felt  quite  at 
sea  like."  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  that  expression; 
so  my  mind  was  immediately  on  the  alert  to  enquire  as  to 
the  connection  between  naval  matters  and  shortness  of  wire 
supply. 

"You  might  run  your  eye  through  my  stork-in-trade,"  said 
the  little  man.  So  my  Father  and  I  crossed  over  the  very  wide 
margin  of  pathway  with  a  four-foot  stone  pavement  along  the 
middle  and  stood  under  the  battered  remains  of  what  was  once 
an  elm  tree  in  a  country  road,  and  ran  our  eye  through  the 
stock-in-trade. 

It  consisted  chiefly  of  old  ironware,  tools,  screwdrivers  and 
chisels,  hammers  and  gimlets,  and  bradawls,  but  each  one  of  a 
different  age,  size,  and  seeming:  of  pincers  that  didn't  open  far 
enough;  of  pliers  of  which  the  side  nipper  was  worn  out;  of  foot- 
rules  that  had  come  apart  at  the  hinge  and  been  unprofessionally 
repaired;  of  a  substantial  box-screw  with  a  cross-lever  loose 
through  a  hole  in  the  bulb  at  the  top;  of  a  beautiful  stoppered 
bottle  richly  engraved  with  a  label  describing  something  which  I 
presume  no  one  ever  wanted  to  bottle,  or  this  one  could  never 
have  fallen  so  low;  of  an  accordion — and  so  forth,  through  a  long 
list  of  second-hand,  third-hand,  fourth-hand  things,  all  more  or 
less  past  service,  except  things  by  nature  invulnerable,  as  pincers 
or  the  box-screw  above  mentioned. 

"  Licensed  'Awker,"  said  the  little  man,  replying  to  an  enquiry 
of  my  Father's  as  to  how  his  trade  should  be  accurately  described. 
"  But  some,  they  prefer  to  call  me  an  Itinerant  Marine  Store 
Dealer;  some,  a  General  'Ardware.  It's  all  how  you  look  at  it! 


26  JOSEPH  VANCE 

And  you'd  be  surprised  what  a  good  trade  it  is!  O'  coorse  you 
has  to  know  how  to  do  it,  or  where  would  you  be  in  no  time  ? " 

He  went  on  to  indicate  some  of  the  secrets  of  success.  It 
appeared  that  so  long  as  he  made  a  parade  of  his  unwillingness 
to  sell,  representing  himself  as  an  eccentric  person  who  had  a 
strange  taste  for  wheeling  a  barrow  of  rather  useless  articles 
about  the  streets,  quite  independently  of  mercenary  considera- 
tions, he  was  always  sure  to  find  a  customer. 

"  Just  you  rub  it  in  to  them  that  you  don't  want  to  sell  a  gim- 
let or  a  turnscrew,  and  that  gimlet  or  that  turnscrew  they'll  want 
to  buy.  New  things,  o'  coorse,  is  another  rule  altogether!  Where 
would  ever  be  the  use  of  puttin'  a  couple  o'  gross  o'  bran'-new 
chisels  in  a  winder,  and  standin'  'ollerin'  at  the  shop  door  that 
you  didn't  want  to  sell  'em?  You'd  only  give  the  public  a  dis- 
taste. Sim'lar,  when  I  sees  a  lot  I  want  to  purchase  cheap,  I 
says,  '  Sorry  I  didn't  come  by  your  way  yesterday,'  I  says,  l  afore 
I'd  bought  a  reg'lar  small  cart-load  of  that  wery  sort  which  I 
shan't  trade  off  in  a  hurry.'  Why,  they'll  come  runnin'  down  the 
street  after  me  a'most  offering  of  me  a  drink  for  to  take  the  goods 
off  their  hands  for  nothing." 

"  You'll  never  sell  that  now,  I'll  wager,"  said  my  Father,  touch- 
ing a  piece  of  board  with  some  writing  on  it. 

The  little  man  had  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  while  talking,  and  as 
his  voice  was  very  inaudible  (though  nothing  to  Mrs.  Packleses) 
when  his  pipe  was  admitted  through  a  defective  tooth-space  on 
the  left,  and  only  became  clear  when  he  shifted  it  to  the  right, 
his  speech  had  come  in  gusts,  like  linnets  in  the  pauses  of  the 
wind.  He  took  the  pipe  out  altogether  now  to  gain  emphasis  for 
a  sweeping  repudiation. 

"Never— sell— that!"  said  he.  "And  the  orfers  I've  had  for 
it !  Why,  only  look  at  it !  " 

"  This  here  young  chap's  a  scollard,"  said  my  Father,  "  and 
he'll  read  us  off  what's  wrote  on  that  there  board  with  a'most 
any  man  in  England." 

I  didn't  understand  my  Father's  motive  for  pretending  he 
couldn't  read  it  himself  (which  I  knew  he  could),  but  I  felt  proud 
of  being  as  it  were  pitted  against  the  University,  and  conscien- 
tiously read  as  follows:  "  C.  Dance,  Builder.  Repairs.  Drains 
promptly  attended  to."  Promptly  puzzled  me  a  little,  but  my  in- 
terpretation passed  muster. 

"Now  if  you've  had  orfers,  why  didn't  you  sell  this  here 
board?"  said  my  Father. 

He. — "Cos  none  of  'em  come  to  a  half-a-crown." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  27 

"  I'd  have  gone  to  half-a-crown  myself,"  said  my  Father,  "  if 
there'd  a  been  a  little  more  on  it." 

H e. — "  Why,  what  more  do  you  want  ?  " 

My  Father. — "If  there'd  been  Wan-Proprietor  on  it,  I'd  have 
took  it  off  you  myself  for  half-a-crown." 

He—" I  don't  see  any  Wans." 

Father.— "  This  ain't  the  only  place  in  the  world.  The  Wans 
is  elsewhere.  I  could  have  made  shift  to  write  in  a  new  name, 
and  it  would  have  come  in  'andy " 

He. — "  It's  a  pity,  'cos  we  might  have  done  a  trade  over  it. 
But  a  party  by  name  C.  Davis  having  offered  eighteenpence  on 
the  grounds  of  easily  altering  of  the  name,  I  should  be  blamed 
by  my  missus  if  I  took  less  than  half-a-crown." 

F. — "It  wouldn't  be  not  to  say  any  good  to  me  without  Wan- 
Proprietor,  or  I  might  have  gone  to  one  and  nine.  But  without 
Wan-Proprietor  I  couldn't  pass  a  shilling." 

I  did  not  then  understand  the  value  of  the  dramatic  fictions 
with  which  the  bargainer  in  all  countries  adorns,  disguises,  or 
accounts  for  his  motives.  So  I  was  taken  aback  at  the  little  man 
suddenly  saying,  "  Make  it  fif teenpence,"  and  my  Father  pro- 
ducing that  sum.  Where  he  can  have  got  it  I  can't  tell — but  he 
handed  it  to  the  little  man  and  received  the  board  in  exchange. 
Its  vendor  seemed  to  wish  to  place  his  own  conduct  on  a  logical 
footing,  for  he  said  as  he  prepared  to  resume  his  march, 
"  Coorse  it's  always  pleasant  to  oblige  an  obliging  GuVnor ;  and 
as  for  C.  Davis  wot  I  spoke  of,  he's  only  a  chap  that  comes  from 
'Ackney  on  Saturdays  and  squints." 

Did  he,  I  asked  myself,  go  back  to  Hackney  on  Saturday  when 
he  had  squinted?  But  I  grappled  in  vain  with  the  problems  sug- 
gested, and  gave  them  up  in  despair.  Besides,  I  had  to  puzzle 
out  why  my  Father  had  purchased  this  board,  and  what  earthly 
use  it  could  be  to  him? 

It  may  seem  odd  that  I  did  not  at  once  observe  the  resemblance 
between  C.  Dance  and  C.  Vance  (my  Father's  name  was  Chris- 
topher). I  suppose  that  my  own  name  presented  itself  to  me  not 
as  a  mere  sound  or  collection  of  letters,  but  a  mysterious  entity 
having  qualities  of  its  own  distinguishing  it  from  all  other 
created  things.  Others  have  told  me  the  same;  and  my  belief  is 
that  most  people  have  the  same  experience  of  the  aspect  of  their 
names.  Anyhow,  the  possibility  of  altering  Dance  to  Vance,  by 
changing  the  first  letter,  came  to  me  as  a  new  light  when  my 
Father,  having  given  my  Mother  a  great  shock  by  announcing 
his  extravagance,  pointed  it  out  to  her. 


28  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  he,  "  of  putting  up  some  sort  of  a 
notice-board,  and  this  here  will  look  like  an  old-established  goin' 
concern."  My  Mother  replied  by  expressing  a  hope  that  the 
venture  might  prove  Providential,  under  the  blessing  of  God,  but 
she  could  not  refrain  from  adding,  "  But  oh,  my  dear  Vance, 
one  shillin'  and  threepence !  " 

"  Two  tizzies  and  one  thrup'ny  bit,"  said  my  Father,  unfeel- 
ingly ;  "  and  I  say,  Joey,  Sir,  who's  that  boy's  father  wot  you  got 
such  a  basting  about  ? "  As  there  had  been  one  or  two  bastings 
consequent  on  boys,  I  thought  a  minute  and  said,  "  Wot  ?  that 
one  that  we  shoved  a  'ap'ny  cracker  in  the  old  Bloke's  letter-box 
and  then  giv'  a  postman's  knock,  and  the  nurse  went  into  Hix- 
terics  ? " — "  No,  no,"  said  my  Father,  "  long  afore  that — him  what 
got  his  father's  colour-toobs  and  done  you  Vermilion  and  hisself 
Rooshian  Blue." 

"Oh,"  said  I,  "of  course  that's  Gummy  Harbuttle— Father's 
name  W.  Harbuttle,  Sign-writer-and-decorated-shop-fronts-com- 
pleted-at-the-shortest-notice."  All  which  I  delivered  rapidly  as 
the  true  and  proper  designation  of  Mr.  Harbuttle. 

"Wery  good,  then.  Round  we  goes  to-morrow  morning  to  Mr. 
Parbuckle  and  we'll  see  if  he  won't  make  good  this  here  error  in 
this  here  signboard."  For  my  Father  thenceforward  treated  the 
letter  he  proposed  to  correct  as  an  erratum  due  to  the  ignorance 
of  the  original  composer. 

Next  morning  round  we  went.  My  Father  persisted  in  speak- 
ing of  Mr.  Parbuckle  till  we  got  to  the  shop,  when  he  grudgingly 
admitted  that  he  supposed  the  beggar's  version  of  his  own  name 
was  right.  He  gave  no  particular  account  of  the  provenance  of 
the  signboard,  merely  suggesting  rather  than  affirming  that  it 
was  done  wrong  at  the  first  go-off  and  hadn't  never  been  of  any 
use  to  him.  Which  was  perfectly  correct  if  intended  as  an  in- 
dictment of  Providence,  but  required  for  perfect  truth  the  addi- 
tional statement  that  it  had  only  been  done  wrong  for  my  Father 
because  it  had  been  done  right  for  Mr.  C.  Dance  (whoever  he 
was)  who  had  to  pay  for  it. 

Gummy  Harbuttle,  the  son  of  the  house,  was  in  the  shop  stir- 
ring paint  through  a  strainer.  He  and  I  acknowledged  each  other 
distantly,  in  the  manner  of  boys  when  parents  are  to  the  fore. 
Mr.  Harbuttle  senior  was  having  a  bit  of  breakfast,  and  I  hope 
acted  on  my  Father's  intimation  that  there  was  no  'urry.  He 
presently  appeared,  wiping  the  white  lead  on  his  apron  into  the 
rear-guard  of  the  disappearing  bit  of  breakfast,  and  endangering 
his  constitution. 


JOSEPH  YANCE  29 

I  think  he  must  have  suspected  something  deceptious  in  the 
alteration  of  the  letter,  in  spite  of  my  Father's  semi-explanation; 
for  he  entered  into  the  job  with  the  enthusiasm  of  an  Italian 
forger  of  an  Old  Master. 

"I  see,"  said  he,  "you  want  it  all  alike  all  over,  like  as  if  it 
was  all  done  by  the  same  hand.  I'll  do  it  so  you'll  never  know  it 
wasn't — cracks  and  all.  Cost  you  a  shillin'.  Couldn't  do  it  for 
less.  You  see,  there's  a  little  bit  of  gildin'." 

The  question  of  style  had  to  be  considered. — "You  couldn't 
call  it  Gothic  lettering,  now  could  you  ? "  said  Mr.  Harbuttle. 
"Nor  yet  it  ain't  exactly  Eoman."  My  Father  replied  that  he 
was  not  a  dab  at  this  sort  of  thing,  while  on  the  other  hand  Mr. 
Harbuttle  was  an  acknowledged  dab.  He  would  therefore  leave 
it  to  Mr.  H.  to  gammon  the  sorts  together  in  his  own  way, 
which  is  what  I  suppose  would  be  described  as  an  Eclectic  treat- 
ment. Mr.  Harbuttle  said  if  my  Father  sent  his  boy  with  a 
shillin'  on  Monday  s'ennight  he  would  find  the  job  done  and  dry. 
It  would  want  all  that  time  to  dry.  My  Father  said  he  would; 
and  I  thought  what  fun  it  would  be  carrying  that  signboard 
through  the  public  streets  all  by  myself.  But  I  wasn't  allowed 
to  go  alone.  My  Father  came  too  as  a  protection,  and  I  had  to 
console  myself  with  carrying  it  on  my  head  at  intervals. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   SHORT   CHAPTER,   BUT  THEN   IT  IS   THE   THIN   END   OF   A  BIG   WEDGE. 
FOR  IT  TELLS  HOW   MR.   VANCE  GOT  HIS  FIRST  BUILDING  JOB. 

MY  Mother  soon  became  convinced  that  my  Father's  invest- 
ment of  two  and  threepence  was  not  altogether  so  mad  a  one 
as  it  had  at  first  seemed. 

"I'm  sure,"  she  said,  "one  never  would  have  thought  it!  It 
do  look  exactly  as  if  it  had  been  there  since  Doomsday."  This 
was  merely  a  slip  of  her  tongue  as  she  and  Mr.  Capstick  knew 
all  about  Doomsday.  "And  I  will  say  the  effect  that  board  has 
on  the  passing  spectator  is  Electrical."  My  Mother  went  on  to 
quote  a  convincing  instance.  "  Why,  there  was  the  Dust,  only  the 
other  day,  stopped  ringin'  of  his  bell  and  says,  to  think  that 
there  board  should  have  been  there  all  those  years  and  him  never 
seen  it ! "  My  Mother  evidently  thought  that  to  stop  a  Dustman 
ringing  his  bell  was  like  damming  Niagara. 

There  came  another  convincing  proof  of  the  Electrical  effect 
of  the  board  within  a  fortnight  of  its  being  attached  to  the  wall 
of  our  cottage. 

My  Mother,  as  I  have  mentioned,  had  for  a  long  time  been  a 
depositor  of  small  sums  in  the  Savings  Bank  I  have  described  as 
Gothic;  I  am  not  sure  though  that  that  is  the  correct  way  of 
classifying  it;  Mr.  Harbuttle  would  have  known.  Perhaps  I 
should  have  said  Rustic,  perhaps  Swiss.  Anyhow,  it  had  latticed 
windows  and  a  high-pitched  roof,  and  a  good  deal  of  external 
woodwork,  and  a  small  porch  covered  with  honeysuckle, — and 
altogether  looked  like  a  place  for  a  virtuous  heroine  to  be  per- 
secuted in.  It  is  gone  now,  and  I  cannot  correct  my  impressions. 
Besides,  it  doesn't  matter  in  the  least  what  it  was  like.  What  we 
have  to  do  with  is  the  elderly  middle-aged  gentleman  who  used  to 
attend  to  the  business  on  the  second  Monday  in  every  month. 
He  did  this  service  gratuitously;  alternating  attendance  with 
another  gentleman  on  each  fourth  Monday  who  was  not  such  a 
favourite  with  the  customers  as  his  coadjutor,  because  he  didn't 
let  them  talk,  and  confined  himself  brutally  to  business.  On  the 
other  hand,  Dr.  Randall  Thorpe  not  only  accepted,  as  necessary 

30 


JOSEPH  VANCE  31 

to  Banking  Transactions,  family  details  of  the  reasons  for  with- 
drawing deposits,  but  used  to  fudge  the  accounts  to  the  credit  of 
the  latter,  and  make  good  deficits  out  of  his  own  pocket  in  what 
he  considered  deserving  cases. 

My  Mother  returned  from  the  Savings  Bank  one  evening 
bursting  with  the  importance  of  her  news  "  Only  to  think, 
Vance,"  she  said,  "Dr.  Thorpe,  he  ackchly  took  notice!" — 
"  Took  notice  of  what  ? "  said  my  Father. 

But  my  Mother  was  not  the  woman  to  do  injustice  to  important 
news  by  informal  or  premature  disclosure.  So  she  said,  "  Now 
just  you  have  half-a-minute's  patience  till  my  shawl  and  bonnet's 
off,  and  then  I'll  get  you  and  Joey  your  Teas.  I  see  the  kettle's 
on  the  bile,  and  I'm  glad  you  had  the  sense  to  it." 

My  Father  remarked,  while  we  had  the  half -minute's  patience, 
which  had  to  be  distributed  over  eight,  that  my  Mother  was  just 
like  'em.  I  asked  like  whom,  and  my  Father  said  females.  This 
seemed  a  suggestion  that  my  Mother  had  a  sex  to  herself,  and  I 
felt  inclined  to  pursue  the  subject.  But  my  Mother  returned 
and  said,  "  Now,  Joey,  you  be  a  good  boy  and  'and  me  out  the 
tea-things."  I  did  so  out  of  the  deep  cupboard  near  the  window, 
that  had  a  semi-circular  back  to  it  and  a  round  top  which  ab- 
sorbed half  the  available  corner-space.  When  all  arrangements 
were  complete,  my  Mother  re-broached  the  interesting  topic. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  do  like  that !  Saying  what,  and  pretend- 
ing not  to  know.  Why,  of  course,  C.  Vance,  Builder.  Kepairs. 
Drainage  promptly  attended  to." 

"  What  did  he  say  then  ?  Spit  it  out,  Missus."  I  must  explain 
that  my  Father  would  sometimes  assume  a  manner,  difficult  to 
describe,  but  which  went  a  long  way  to  make  it  possible  to  say 
offensive  things  without  giving  offence.  It  was  jocular  and  semi- 
bacchanalian,  and  conveyed  an  impression  that  the  speaker  was 
too  lazy  and  good-humoured  to  take  the  trouble  not  to  speak 
slightly  through  the  nose,  or  to  use  any  sibilant  except  z.  I  fear 
this  doesn't  make  it  any  plainer — and  I  shall  have  to  be  content 
with  recording  that  my  Mother  showed  no  resentment  at  being 
told  to  spit  it  out,  but  merely  said,  "  Go  along !  Spit  it  out, 
indeed ! "  and  then  gave  the  substance  of  her  communication. 

"Dr.  Thorpe  he  says  first,  ' What !— another  dror'  out!'— he 
says.  And  I  says,  'Yes,  Doctor,  and  myself  sorrowful-like  to 
have  to.  But  my  man's  allowance  from  the  sick-fund  coming  to 
an  end,  and  the  boy  to  feed,  disposes  of  one's  savings  gradual  and 
not  noticeable.' — '  So  it  does,  Mrs.  Vance,'  says  he.  '  But  you're 
richer  than  you  think  by  five  shillings  according  to  the  books 


32  JOSEPH   VANCE 

this  week,  so  we  won't  begin  to  cry  till  next  week.' — *  You're  truly 
kind,  Doctor,'  says  I,  and  then  he  says,  'By  the  bye,  your  name 
must  be  a  name  in  these  parts  'cos  I  see  it  on  a  board  in  a  'ouse 
in  a  sort  of  stand-back  off  the  High  Road.' — {  That's  our  house, 
Doctor,'  says  I,  <  and  we  call  the  bit  in  front  the  garden.' — '  Well, 
then,'  says  he,  '  your  husband  does  buildin'  jobs.'  And  I  says, 
'  Yes.'  And  he  says,  '  They  was  enquiring  at  the  'ouse  for  some 
one  to  see  to  the  nursery  chimney,  likewise  the  drains  in  the 
basement;  and  I  can't  promise  the  job  to  Mr.  Vance,  but  if  he 
comes  round  to-morrow  morning  at  nine,  and  don't  find  anything 
to  do,  I'll  give  him  a  couple  of  shillings  to  cover  expenses.'  And 
then  he  giv'  me  his  card,  and  here  it  is ! " 

My  Father  took  the  card,  looked  at  it,  and  buttoned  it  into  a 
pocket.  He  was  evidently  inflated  with  gratification,  but  too 
proud  to  allow  it,  and  he  took  this  method  of  showing  a  slight 
self-assertion  for  the  better  preservation  of  a  fiction  about  male 
authority.  A  few  moments  passed  of  complacent  silence  on  his 
part,  mixed  with  reluctance  to  concede  approval  to  a  female. 
But  my  Mother,  having  said  her  say,  was  not  going  to  give  way  to 
this  little  bit  of  husbandly  discipline-mongering. — Of  course  she 
beat,  and  my  Father  had  to  speak. 

"You  ain't  sendin'  me  my  tea,"  he  said. 

"  'Cos  you  never  asked  for  it !  Don't  you  slop  it  over  now, 
Joey!" 

My  Father  took  his  time  over  his  tea  and  came  for  more.  Then 
he  said,  as  one  to  whom  an  abstract  truth  occurs,  unconnected 
with  any  subject  under  discussion,  "  Females  is  sometimes  wrong, 
Joey." 

"What  about,  Daddy?"  said  I. 

"  Females  is  sometimes  wrong  about  signboards  which  their 
husbands  places  in  front  of  their  'ouses,  on  the  left-'and  side  of 
the  door."  He  adhered  in  manner  to  the  suggestion  that  he  was 
merely  pointing  a  moral  for  the  benefit  of  humanity,  without 
special  reference  to  any  recent  incident. 

"  Well,  there,  I  declare  now,  Vance ! "  struck  in  my  Mother, 
good-humouredly,  "you'll  never  be  done  chaffin'  me  about 
that! — And  all  I  said  was  two  and  threepence  was  a  lot  of 
money ! " 

"  I  know  a  boy,"  said  I,  irrelevantly,  "  wot  chucked  for  coppers 
arid  won  two  and  ninepence."  Neither  of  my  parents  seemed  to 
think  this  boy  a  desirable  topic;  but  whether  it  was  on  that 
account,  or  because  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  mat- 
ter in  hand,  they  both  said,  "Shut  up,  Joey!"  I  don't  know. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  33 

"  But  seriously  now,  as  the  sayin'  is,  Vance  dear,"  my  Mother 
went  on,  "  what  do  you  know  about  buildin'  ? " 

My  Father  picked  up  his  empty  pipe  from  the  tea-tray,  where 
it  had  lain  since  he  began  his  tea,  tapped  the  ashes  carefully  out 
on  a  clean  bit  of  the  deal  table,  blew  through  it,  filled  it,  lighted 
it,  and  settled  down  to  a  comfortable  smoke.  "  What  was  you 
a-askin'  of  me  ? "  said  he. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  buildin'  ? "  said  my  Mother,  chang- 
ing only  an  accent  in  her  question. 

"  Nothin'  whatever,"  said  my  Father. 

"And,  my  gracious  me,"  cried  my  Mother,  in  great  concern, 
"  there  you've  gone  and  advertised  as  such !  Well,  I  never !  And 
it's  Builder  wrote  up  clear  and  unmistakable." 

"That's  the  p'int,  my  dear,"  said  my  Father.  "That's  the 
whole  p'int!  Builders  knows  nothing  about  Buildin'." 

"  Your  Father  he's  talkin'  that  nonsensical,  Joey,  that  you  best 
come  and  help  me  clear  away  tea." 

My  Father  finished  his  pipe  while  the  tea-things  disappeared. 
He  then  took  me  on  his  knee  and  proceeded  to  enlighten  me  on 
the  subject  in  hand.  He  excluded  my  Mother  from  participation, 
and  addressed  himself  solely  to  me. 

"  That's  just  precisely  the  whole  p'int,  Joseph,  my  son,"  he  said. 
"  Builders  knows  nothin'  about  Buildin'.  Other  people  knows 
something  if  they  don't  know  much,  but  Builders  they  knows  ab- 
so-lootly  nothin' ! " 

"  Does  Mr.  Capstick  know  anything  about  Buildin'  ? "  said  I. 

"Mis-ter  Capstick!  Why,  he  ain't  a  tradesman  at  all!  O' 
coorse  I'm  speakin'  of  tradesmen.  Mr.  Capstick's  a  sort  o' 
second'and  clergyman,  and  they  don't  know  nothin'  at  all  about 
anything.  My  meanin'  is  clear!  When  a  man's  a  Carpenter  he 
mostly  knows  a  little  about  Carpenterin'.  When  he's  a  Jiner, 
sim'lar.  When  a  Bricklayer,  Plasterer,  Paper  'Anger,  Painter, 
or  Glazier,  the  same  'olds  good  of  any  tradesman.  But  when 
he's  a  Builder  he  knows  nothing,  and  no  need  to  neither.  He 
ain't  called  on  to  Carpenter  and  Jine,  nor  yet  if  he  don't  know 
a  Bat  from  a  Closure  it's  no  account,  nor  if  he  knew  no  more  of 
Paperhanging  than  how  to  fold  back  it  wouldn't  hurt  him.  He'd 
never  want  to  touch  a  paste-brush." 

"  But  you  know,"  said  my  Mother,  "  you  must  know  something 
about  it,  or  you  couldn't  poll-parrot  to  that  degree." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  my  Father,  mollified,  lapsing  from  his 
didactic  to  his  jocular  manner,  "coorse  a  man  can't  ketch  others 
out  for  knowin'  nothin'  unless  he  knows  something  hisself.  Be- 


34  JOSEPH  VANCE 

sides/'  he  added,  with  still  further  concession,  "  Fve  been  a  'andy 
man  time  and  again,  at  an  odd  trade  or  two.  Joey  and  me'll  go 
over  to  this  here  Dr.  Thorpusses,  Popular  Wilier,  to-morrow 
mornin'  at  nine  precisely." 

This  was  said  in  an  incisive  manner,  to  give  a  favourable  im- 
pression of  the  promptitude  with  which  drains  were  going  to  be 
attended  to. 


CHAPTER  V 

OP  JOE'S  VERY  FIRST  VISHT  TO  POPLAR  VILLA.  OF  ITS  DRAINS  AND  THEIR 
STENCH.  OF  HOW  JOE  SAW  HIS  FIRST  REAL  YOUNG  LADY  AT  HOME. 
HOW  SHE  KISSED  JOE,  AND  JOE  LIKED  IT.  OF  A  PEAR  TREE  THAT 
LIVED  THENCEFORWARD  IN  JOE's  MEMORY.  OF  HIS  RETURN  HOME. 

WE  started  for  Dr.  Thorpe's  the  next  morning  early.  My 
Father  mispronounced  his  name  in  several  different  ways  in  the 
course  of  our  conversation  on  the  road,  and  I  need  hardly  add 
that  his  motive  in  doing  this  was  to  express  contempt  for  his 
fellow  creatures  generally,  by  utilizing  a  particular  sample  as  an 
object  of  contumely  Thorpe  is  rather  a  difficult  name  to  mis- 
pronounce, and  I  fancy  he  resented  this,  and  it  made  him  more 
determined  to  succeed  in  discovering  a  successful  distortion. 

"  Has  he  a  railway-lamp  over  the  door  ? "  said  I. 

"  This  here  Dr.  Thrupp,"  said  he.  "  May  be  yes,  may  be  no ! 
If  s  accordin'." 

"  Has  he  two  whopping  big  bottles  of  blue  and  red  medicine  in 
the  winder?"  I  further  asked.  I  was  thinking  of  the  shop  Mr. 
Gunn  had  been  taken  into  to  have  his  eye  adjusted. 

"Who?  Dr.  Crupp  or  whatever  his  name  is?  He  ain't  got  a 
shop.  It's  a  Wilier.  What's  a  Wilier  ?  It's  a  'ouse  with  a  stables 
for  a  one-'orse-shay,  and  a  green'us  and  a  gardener  and  some 
scarlet  geeraniums!  And  what's  geeraniums?  Well — geerani- 
ums  is  what  they  sells  on  the  barrers.  And  what's  a  green'us? 
Well,  it's  glass,  and  there's  a  grapewine  in  it,  and  it's  where  they 
shoves  the  garden  pump  away  when  not  in  use, — which  is  mighty 
seldom,  as  it's  always  out  of  order.  And  that's  enough  for  any 
young  nipper  to  know  at  one  go-off." 

I  was  greedy  of  knowledge,  and  resented  these  small  instal- 
ments. But  I  accepted  my  Father's  broad  hint,  and  was  silent. 
Nevertheless,  my  mind  was  seriously  exercised  by  the  enquiry  why 
people  should  harbour  garden-pumps  that  were  always  out  of 
order.  Could  no  remedy  be  found  for  such  an  unsatisfactory 
state  of  things  ?  After  about  a  mile  of  road  I  thought  I  had  done 
my  duty  by  silence,  and  reopened  the  subject.  "  It  isn't  only 
garden-pumps,"  said  my  Father.  "  All  pumps  is  alike.  Always 

85 


36  JOSEPH   VANCE 

out  of  order  they  are!     They  all  goes  out  of  order  if  you  stop 
pumpin*  for  'arf-an-hour." 

"  Then  you  have  to  keep  on  pumping,"  said  I.  "  That's  about 
it,"  said  my  Father.  I  need  not  say  I  felt  rather  unhappy  at 
this,  as  it  seemed  to  consign  so  many  slaves  to  the  pump-handle 
for  life.  But  we  were  just  arriving  at  Dr.  Thorpe's. 

"  Let's  see ! "  said  my  Father,  "  what  did  your  Mother  say  this 
here  Doctor's  name  was  ? " 

"You've  got  his  card  in  your  weskit  pocket,  buttoned  in," 
said  I. 

"  Coorse  I  have !  Sharp  nipper ! "  And  my  Father  got  out 
the  card.  He  gave  a  very  slight  snort  and  nod  of  disparagement, 
as  if  he  had  identified  Dr.  Thorpe  as  a  public  character  of 
opposite  politics.  And  this  brought  us  to  the  gate  of  Poplar 
Villa. 

"  Now  which  of  these  gates  do  they  expect  us  to  go  in  at  ? "  said 
my  Father.  For  Poplar  Villa  had  two,  one  to  let  carriages  into 
the  semicircular  gravel  road  in  front  of  the  house,  the  other  to 
let  them  out.  "  If  we'd  'a'  drove  here  in  our  own  broom,  I  should 
'a'  said  the  left,  so  as  to  git  out  on  the  left  after  the  coachman  'd 
rang  the  bell  at  the  top  of  all  them  steps.  But  bein'  as  it  were 
out  already,  we  may  go  in  orposite  to  the  carriage  company,  and 
ring  the  side  bell."  Which  we  did,  with  the  result  that  we 
were  asked  by  a  young  lady  with  a  cap  and  a  clean  print  dress 
with  large  round  brown  spots  all  over  it  whether  we  were  the  man 
for  the  drains.  As  we  were,  or  were  at  any  rate  the  man  and  boy, 
we  entered,  on  condition  that  the  boy  wiped  his  feet,  which  he 
forthwith  did  much  longer  than  was  necessary,  from  a  sense  of 
duty, — and  to  rise  to  the  occasion. 

A  good  many  things  then  occurred  outside  the  range  of  my 
experience.  It  transpired  that  the  Master  was  in  his  study  and 
mustn't  be  worrited;  but  that  a  lady  whose  name  I  didn't  catch 
would  attend  shortly  to  give  directions.  This  was  confirmed  by 
a  real  young  lady  (I  had  never  seen  one  at  home  before)  who 
said  from  the  end  of  a  passage  that  Aunt  would  come  in  a 
minute.  I  wondered  whether  all  young  ladies  at  home  were  beings 
as  glorious  and  enthralling  as  this  one,  and  thought  how  jolly  it 
must  be  if  they  were.  She  seemed  about  fifteen,  and  had  her 
apron  or  skirt  full  of  apples  or  pears.  I  found  after  they  were 
early  pears,  and  that  they  were  being  stewed.  I  have  since  smelt 
stewing  pears,  and  the  smell  always  brings  back  this  young  lady 
passing  through  a  streak  of  morning  sun  that  got  in  at  the  edge  of 
the  yellow  blind  behind  her.  If  I  had  been  older  I  should  have 


JOSEPH  VANCE  37 

fallen  desperately  in  love,  but  I  was  too  young  to  know  how  to  do 
that;  so  I  did  the  nearest  approach  to  it  that  I  was  capable  of, 
which  consisted  mainly  of  substituting  expectation  of  her  next 
appearance  for  every  other  possible  anticipation  in  life.  I  forgot 
discomfort  about  the  imperfections  of  pumps.  My  feeling  was 
one  of  thirst  for  a  second  dose  of  a  girl  standing  in  a  sun-glint  at 
the  end  of  a  passage,  mixed  with  self-gratulation  of  having  found 
anything  so  jolly  to  tell  Mother  about. 

I  was  roused  to  mundane  events  by  the  rustle  of  important 
skirts  descending  the  stairs.  They  were  on  an  elderly  lady  of 
what  I  have  since  learned  to  call  a  genteel  appearance.  She  was 
silver-grey  all  over — perhaps  her  dress  was  an  Irish  Poplin — and 
she  had  a  pince-nez,  through  which  she  looked  at  my  Father  as 
if  he  were  a  thousand  miles  off  (though  we  were  really  quite 
close)  and  said  (exactly  as  though  he  couldn't  hear  her),  "Is  this 
the  man  ? "  and  then,  when  satisfied  on  this  point,  "  Is  this  the 
man's  boy  ? "  meaning  me. 

The  impression  I  had  of  this  interview  (so  far  as  I  could 
be  said  to  receive  any  impression  after  the  collision  of  my  per- 
ceptions with  the  vision  at  the  end  of  the  passage)  was  that  this 
excellent  lady  never  addressed  my  Father  all  the  time,  but  spoke 
of  him  to  space  as  "  the  Man,"  and  he  for  his  part  replied  direct. 
His  answers  without  her  questions  will  give  the  whole  substance 
of  the  dialogue. 

"  Certainly,  Marm !  Any  Bricklayin*  work,  Carpenterin',  Plumb- 
in',  and  Glazin'.  Any  work  connected  with  the  Buildin'  Trades  I 
undertake  to  execute  to  your  entire  satisfaction." 

"  Touchin'  charges,  Marm,  and  replying  to  your  enquiry,  my 
charges  is  always  strictly  according  to  work  done,  time  and 
materials.  And  I  should  look  forward  'opefully  to  submittin'  an 
account  to  your  entire  satisfaction." 

"  If  any  reference  required,  on  account  of  steadiness  and 
sobriety,  our  Minister,  the  Rev.  Benaiah  Capstick,  would  I  am 
sure  be  to  your  entire  satisfaction." 

"But  in  these  respects  all  the  years  I've  been  in  the  Buildin' 
line,  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  always  to  give  my  Employers 
Entire  Satisfaction." 

In  a  certain  sense  this  was  true,  as  there  had  been  no  Employers. 
I  was  recovering  (by  the  time  my  Father  reached  this  verse  of 
the  Litany  above  quoted)  from  the  effects  of  the  young  lady, 
and  I  resolved  to  tackle  my  Father  on  the  point  at  the  next 
opportunity.  At  the  risk  of  getting  involved  in  a  complicated 
mixture  of  Mr.  Capstick's  I  decided  to  try  and  find  out  whether 


38  JOSEPH   VANCE 

the  entire  satisfaction  of  a  non-existent  Employer  with  the  drink 
and  strong  language  of  a  person  he  was  by  nature  unqualified  to 
employ,  was  really  any  better  a  testimonial  to  virtue  than  his 
entire  dissatisfaction  would  have  been  had  he  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  exist. 

The  silver-grey  lady  decided,  and  mentioned  to  the  Universe, 
that  the  Man  appeared  steady  and  sober.  It  then  eventuated 
that  the  Man  went  up  into  "  the  Nursery  "  to  look  at  the  bricks 
in  the  chimney  which  were  alleged  to  be  making  it  smoke. 

This  was  a  mere  lever-de-rideau — the  principal  stage  business 
of  the  day  being  an  examination  of  the  Drains  under  the  guidance 
of  Dr.  Thorpe;  who  I  already  foresaw,  by  some  mysterious  in- 
stinct, would  be  grossly  ignorant  on  the  subject,  and  but  as  wax 
in  my  Father's  hands. 

I  remained  downstairs  in  what  I  began  to  realize  was  "the 
Pantry,"  standing  first  on  one  of  The  Boy's  legs  and  then  on  the 
other,  till  I  was  overwhelmed  by  the  frightful  suddenness  of  the 
reappearance  of  the  young  lady, — her  very  self,  hair  and  all! 
And  it  was  such  pretty  hair — only  the  lock  on  her  forehead  on 
the  left  side  would  get  loose  and  drop  over  her  very  long  eye- 
lashes. And  then  it  evidently  tickled  and  had  to  be  put  back. 
She  didn't  seem  the  least  embarrassed  with  her  own  existence  or 
mine.  But  she  appeared  to  be  obsessed  by  a  very  minute  child  of 
about  two,  who  required  to  be  kept  in  check  continually,  or  his 
original  sinfulness  got  the  better  of  him.  His  name  was  revealed 
as  Joey,  which  struck  me  then  as  very  curious,  seeing  that  7  was 
Joey !  It  really  wasn't  curious,  as  I  have  seen  since,  but  I  suppose 
Joeys  happened  to  be  scarce  in  our  circle.  He  was  a  chubby  little 
boy  with  very  pale  eyes  and  hair,  rather  as  if  he  had  been  boiled. 
He  was  intensely  voluble,  and  I  heard  him  afar,  before  the  Vision 
burst  upon  me  a  second  time,  causing  me  to  collapse,  like  the 
Apostle  in  pictures  of  the  Conversion  of  St.  Paul.  What  follows 
consists  of  his  remarks  as  soon  as  they  became  audible,  sand- 
wiched with  those  of  the  young  lady.  It  is  fifty  years  ago  now, 
but  I  remember  every  word. 

"  I  wants  to  go  up  that  ladder." 

"  Come  off  my  skirts,  you  little  Plague,  I  shan't  have  a  gather 
left." 

"  But  I  wants  to  go  up  the  ladder — and  if  I  may  go  to  the 
vethy  top  I'll  eat  none." 

"  And  how  many  will  you  eat,  you  shocking  boy  (kiss),  if  I  let 
you  go  up  one  step  and  hold  you  ? " 

"  Thumb  "   (reluctantly  and  evasively). 


JOSEPH  VANCE  39 

"  Say  some !  You  know  perfectly  well  you're  not  to  have  any, 
especially  after  all  the  scum  of  that  stew  you've  been  having. 
You  know  perfectly  well  you've  got  a  stomach-ache,  if  you'd  only 
confess  it." 

"  Who'th  that  Boy  ?    I  want'th  to  know  who  that  Boy  is  ? " 

"Don't  be  rude  and  point — of  course  that's  the  Man's  Boy. 
Come  and  speak  to  him." 

"  Whath  your  name  ?  My  name's  Joey.  Her  name's  Lotthie. 
She's  my  thithter.  I've  got  another  thithter  upstairs.  I've  got  a 
bruwer.  I've  got  a  horse,  only  the  mane's  sticked  on  wiv'  glue, 
and  to-morrow  I'm  to  have  it  back." 

"  He  appears  a  very  nice  little  Boy,  with  blue  eyes  and  little 
square  legs.  How  old  are  you,  dear?  Eight  yesterday!  I  didn't 
think  you  were  so  much.  But  you're  not  too  old  to  be  kissed  I 
He  looks  quite  clean  and  I  shall  kiss  him." 

Which  she  did.  The  lock  of  hair  got  loose  and  tickled  my 
right  cheek.  I  can  feel  it  now. 

Did  I  go  to  school?  No,  I  didn't.  Did  I  know  how  to  read? 
Yes,  I  did.  Father  said  I  was  a  regular  dab  at  it.  Who  taught 
me?  Why,  Mother,  o'  coorse!  She  could  read  beautiful.  What 
books  did  I  read?  The  Boyble,  and  Mr.  Capstick's  Tracts,  and 
"Robinson  Crusoe."  Which  did  I  like  best?  The  Boyble  and 
"  Robinson  Crusoe."  And  of  these  two  last  which  did  I  like  best  ? 
I  demurred,  being  afraid  of  ulterior  consequences  if  I  placed 
"  Robinson  Crusoe "  above  the  Bible.  I  suggested  my  religious 
scruples  in  the  ear  that  came  down  (with  the  hair  off  it)  to  meet 
my  stuttered  whispers,  and  the  mouth  that  belonged  to  the  ear 
broke  into  a  laugh  that  filled  the  whole  place,  and  engaged  the 
curiosity  of  a  carrot-scraping  cook,  who  remarked  that  Miss 
Lossie  was  having  her  fun  with  the  Man's  Boy,  to  a  bootblack  and 
whistler,  in  a  dim  unexplored  back-region.  What  was  Miss  Lossie 
a-laughin'  right  out  like  that  about?  Why,  because  the  Man's 
Boy  was  afraid  that,  if  he  liked  "Robinson  Crusoe"  better  than 
the  Bible,  he  would  go  to  a  place  which  Joseph  knew  very  well  he 
was  not  to  say,  as  he  did  the  other  day  before  Company.  But 
the  Man's  Boy  really  did  like  "Robinson  Crusoe"  best,  didn't 
he  ?  Well — he  did — but  chiefly  because  of  a  suspicion  that  though 
Mr.  Capstick  hadn't  himself  written  the  Bible,  he  had  got  him- 
self worked  into  it  surreptitiously  since  its  first  publication,  and 
had  given  it  a  Capstickian  flavour.  And  what  did  I  say  my 
name  was  ?  I  said,  "  Joey,  Miss ;  " — and  Miss  Lossie  said,  "  Say  it 
again,  dear — I  can't  hear.  Joey,  don't  howl  wEen  you  jump! 
Jump,  but  don't  howl." — For  Master  Joseph  had  invented  a  new 


40  JOSEPH  VANCE 

form  of  riot  which  impeded  communications.  I  gave  my  name 
again,  and  Miss  Lossie  said  then  there  were  a  couple  of  Joeys. 
And  I  said,  "Yes,  please,  Miss,"  to  apologize  for  possible 
intrusion. 

Then  the  Cook,  who  I  believe  must  have  been  my  Guardian 
Angel  in  disguise,  pointed  out  that  Miss  Lossie's  Pa  was  sure  to 
be  ever  so  long  with  the  Man  over  the  Drains,  because  Miss 
Lossie  knew  what  her  Pa  was;  so  why  shouldn't  Miss  Lossie  take 
the  Boy  out  in  the  garden  and  make  him  help  gather  the  pears? 
So  Miss  Lossie  did,  one  Joe  in  each  hand. 

There  were  plenty  of  Pears  to  pick.  It  must  have  been  a  good 
and  unusually  early  crop.  There  were  such  crops  in  those  days. 
— The  gardener  was  picking  as  hard  as  he  could  on  a  ladder,  and 
another  ladder  was  occupied  by  a  boy  about  my  own  age.  But 
I  said,  "Law,  Miss,  I  don't  want  no  ladder,"  and  had  my  jacket 
off  and  was  up  in  the  tree  and  picking  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
«ye.  And  the  gardener  remarked  that  I  seemed  a  likely  young 
chap. 

We  picked  and  picked  in  the  sunshine  and  pelted  the  pears 
down  on  the  lawn,  because  even  if  they  hadn't  been  too  hard  to 
bruise  on  the  soft  grass,  it  wouldn't  have  mattered  as  they  were 
to  be  stewed  immediately. —  Only  I  was  to  take  care  not  to  hit 
Miss  Violet,  who  was  reading  a  novel  in  the  shadow  on  the  lawn. 
Miss  Violet  was  older  than  her  sister,  and  may  have  been  prettier. 
But  I  took  no  interest  in  her  at  all. 

The  boy  who  was  picking  was  very  close  to  me.  We  established 
Free-Masonic  relations  of  offensive  and  defensive  alliance  against 
males  of  all  ages.  But  he  did  justice  to  his  social  superiority  by 
a  certain  assumption  of  patronage,  calling  me  younker.  He  also 
disclaimed  liability  to  pear-tree  service,  saying  he  was  only  doing 
it  for  a  few  minutes  and  was  going  away  to  cricket  directly — ob- 
viously a  more  manly  employment.  He  supposed  (but  I  don't 
know  why)  I  didn't  play  cricket.  I  said,  "  the  Boys  "  allowed  me 
to  field  out  a  bit,  but  never  let  me  have  an  innings.  I  think  he 
inferred  that  my  standard  of  cricket  was  low,  as  he  did  not  pursue 
the  subject. 

I  heard  in  the  remote  distance  a  discussion  of  Drains,  some- 
times subterranean,  sometimes  in  front  of  the  house,  sometimes 
as  far  off  as  the  garden  gates.  My  Father's  voice  husky  and 
patronizing — Dr.  Thorpe's  voice  with  the  superiority  of  Educa- 
tion, but  deferring  to  the  Judgment  of  a  Practical  Man.  This 
discussion  I  thankfully  foresaw  would  be  interminable,  that  is  to 
say,  would  require  the  intervention  of  some  great  force  of  Nature 


JOSEPH  VANCE  41 

to  stop  it — for  instance,  lunch.  So  I  picked  pears  in  unspeakable 
happiness,  keeping  my  eyes  fixed  on  Miss  Lossie  down  below,  sit- 
ting on  the  lawn  with  her  hands  round  her  knees  and  Joey 
hanging  on  her  shoulders.  She  also  was  engaged  in  an  inter- 
minable discussion,  with  her  sister,  and  of  this  I  was  unable  to 
catch  the  purport,  and  only  heard  her  words  when  they  took  the 
form  of  audible  remonstrance  to  Joey,  as  for  instance,  "  Joey,  if 
you  lick,  Anne  shall  come  and  fetch  you,"  or,  "  Joey,  you  awful 
child,  you'll  have  all  my  hair  down,"  or  "  Joey  dear,  don't  kiss 
me  so  tight;  you'll  get  stuck  and  never  come  undone." 

But  all  good  things  have  an  end,  and  the  end  of  my  Paradise 
came  with  a  sudden  bell  of  a  dictatorial  sort  and  a  "Good  gracious, 
it's  luncheon,  and  I'm  not  washed!"  from  Miss  Lossie,  just  as  we 
arrived  at  the  end  of  our  picking.  I  was  afraid  I  shouldn't  see 
her  again,  as  she  ran  away  so  very  quick  to  get  washed.  As  I 
came  down  the  tree  I  heard  her  sister  say,  "  Well,  all  I  say 
is,  it's  undignified,"  and  she  replied,  "And  all  /  say  is,  I  shall 
do  exactly  whatever  I  please  and  consult  nobody.  So  there ! " 
After  which  more  than  American  Declaration  of  Independence 
she  ran  into  the  house. 

I  found  my  Father  and  Dr.  Thorpe  at  the  front  gate  apparently 
on  good  terms  (for  which  I  was  thankful,  knowing  my  Father's 
combative  disposition),  but  registering  slight  differences  of 
opinion  about  a  certain  culvert,  or  barrel  drain;  concerning  which 
the  Doctor  spoke  with  as  decisive  a  certainty  as  if  he  had  crawled 
up  it.  "I  still  think,"  said  he,  "that  the  fault  is  in  the  old 
barrel-drain."  And  my  Father  replied,  "Deferrin'  always  re- 
speckfly  to  you,  Sir,  and  always  subjick  to  your  correction,  I  still 
hold  as  a  Practical  Man  to  my  opinion — defective  trappin'.  But 
we  will  have  a  thorough  examination  as  arranged  on  Monday." 

I  felt  that  my  Father's  position  as  a  Metropolitan  Builder  was 
beginning  to  be  established.  And  I  was  more  afraid  than  ever 
that  I  shouldn't  see  Miss  Lossie  again,  when  she  ran  suddenly 
down  the  long  flight  of  steps  with  a  very  large  piece  of  plum 
cake  in  her  hand  for  me.  She  was  obviously,  when  washed,  the 
most  beautiful  thing  in  heaven  or  earth.  It  was  simply  an  indis- 
putable axiom,  to  be  accepted  without  question  by  a  grateful 
Universe.  "  Where  was  the  Boy  ?  Oh,  here !  When  was  the 
Man  coming  to  do  the  Drains?  Oh,  good-morning!  Monday? 
Then  you'll  be  sure  to  bring  the  Boy.  You  must  make  him  bring 
the  Boy,  Papa." 

Miss  Lossie  had  addressed  my  Father  directly,  but  she  had  this 
much  of  her  Aunt  in  her  that  when  it  came  to  the  actual  sub- 


42  JOSEPH   VANCE 

stance  of  the  communication  to  what  my  Father  called  a  trades- 
man, it  was  most  fitting  to  transmit  it  through  an  Agent.  The 
Agent  laughed  and  said,  in  reply  to  a  tendency  to  ask  leave, 
"  Whatever  my  daughter  likes.  He's  a  good  boy,  I  suppose,  and 
doesn't  break  things."  My  Father  enlarged  upon  the  very  high 
development  of  a  capacity  for  not  breaking  things  which  not  only 
I  but  all  my  forbears  on  both  sides  had  attained.  He  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  appearance  of  the  silver-grey  Aunt  as  a  sort  of 
Luncheon- Shepherd  collecting  her  flock;  and  then  Miss  Lossie 
said,  "Good-bye,  little  Boy!  Come  on  Monday.  The  cake's  new, 
so  don't  stuff  it  down  or  you'll  swell  up  like  our  Joey."  I  was 
nursing  a  secret  hope  that  I  should  be  kissed  again.  But  this, 
I  suppose,  was  one  of  the  things  that  would,  not  have  been 
dignified ;  so  Miss  Lossie  merely  took  hold  of  my  right  hand  (that 
had  flung  the  bottle-end  at  Mr.  Gunn),  to  put  the  cake  in  it,  and 
vanished  to  lunch.  The  long  front  garden  gate  I  supposed 
sympathized  with  me,  for  it  refused  to  shut  us  out  until  my  Father 
resolutely  jumped  the  hasp  into  the  latchet.  Then  the  world  be- 
came prosaic. 

My  Father  lighted  his  pipe  in  the  shelter  of  the  gate-pier,  and 
puffed  at  it  in  silence  as  we  started  home.  "I'll  give  the  little 
Nipper  a  lift  if  he's  tired,"  said  he.  But  the  little  Nipper  wasn't 
tired,  and  shook  his  head  for  reply,  his  mouth  being  full  of  cake. 
The  cake  was  new,  but  I  may  mention  (in  case  the  reader  should 
feel  anxious)  that  I  did  not  swell  up,  but  felt  refreshed,  and 
grateful  for  the  citron.  When  I  had  finished  it,  and  my  Father 
had  knocked  the  ash  out  of  his  pipe  and  blown  through  it,  con- 
versation ensued — 

He. — "With  respect  to  this  here  barrel-drain  or  culvert,  I'm 
remarkin'  that  this  here  Dr.  Thorpe  never  knew  no  such  expres- 
sions till  he  borrowed  'em  'orf  of  me.  Consequent,  he's  likely 
wrong — and  there  ain't  no  culvert,  nor  yet  no  drain  of  any  de- 
scription." 

7. — "  Miss  Lossie's  brother's  name  is  Joey — the  very  little  one." 
,  He. — "It's  more  than  'arf  likely  it's  only  a  lot  of  old  stinkin' 
wells,  and  the  nightmen  pretendin'  they'd  emptied  of  'em,  and 
very  far  from  being  the  case.  But  the  public  judges  of  the  effi- 
ciency of  the  nightman  by  the  quantity  of  brandy  consoomed  to 
keep  him  from  faintin',  and  bein'  in  bed  at  the  time  cannot  in- 
spect." 

/. — "  Miss  Lossie's  big  brother  plays  cricket.  Miss  Lossie's  big 
sister  reads.  Miss  Lossie's  father's  gardener  is  called  Samuel." 

He. — "  In  coorse  in  the  manner  o'  speakin'  cesspools  is  more 


JOSEPH  VANCE  43 

wholesome,  but  then  main  shores  and  constant  supply  is  good  for 
trade,  and  that  we  ought  to  consider.  The  labourer  is  worthy 
of  his  hire,  as  Capstick  says ;  so  wherefore  not  give  him  all  possible 
employment  ? " 

/. — "  Miss  Lossie's  Aunt's  name  is  Isabella  and  she's  deaf,  but 
not  very.  Miss  Lqssie's  father  isn't  a  real  Doctor — only  pretence." 

He. — "How  the  dickens  does  the  young  Nipper  know  that?" 

My  statement  had  recalled  my  Father  from  his  savoury  reverie 
on  sewage,  and  I  think  it  now  presented  itself  to  him  for  the  first 
time  that  Dr.  Thorpe  did  not  belong  to  the  Medical  Profession. 
I  was  unable,  and  am,  still,  to  say  exactly  how  I  knew  it,  or  how 
I  knew  that  Miss  Isabella  the  Aunt  was  deaf  but  not  very,  and  so 
forth.  But  I  was  convinced  of  it,  and  my  Father  on  reflection 
appeared  inclined  to  admit  it,  saying  that  pVaps  Dr.  Thorpe  was 
a  Libery  Beggar  and  took  Poopils.  Perhaps  he  was. 

We  arrived  home  very  late  for  one  o'clock  though  rather  early 
for  three.  Mr.  Capstick  had  been  on  a  visit,  and  was  just  taking 
his  leave.  My  Father  said,  "  Good-afternoon  to  you,  Sir !  Me  and 
Mrs.  Wance  has  been  sayin'  it  was  gettin'  on  for  time  for  you  to 
come  round  and  have  a  Heal  Hidgeous  Controversy."  And  Mr. 
Capstick  replied  that  vain  disputations  were  contrary  to  his 
liking,  which  was  a  fib  on  the  part  of  the  Rev.  Benaiah.  My 
Father  said,  however,  he  should  look  forward.  And  the  Rev.  de- 
parted, with  benedictions,  to  my  great  satisfaction.  I  launched 
at  once  into  the  real  business  of  life. 

"I  say,  Mother,  Miss  Lossie  she  wanted  for  to  know  which  I 
liked  best,  Mr.  Capstick's  Tracks  or  Robinson  Crusoe." 

"  The  pound  and  four  ounces  of  beefsteaks  is  a-doin',  I'm  'appy 
to  smell,"  said  my  Father. 

"  I  put  it  on  the  gridiron  the  minute  I  see  you  get  past  the 
Roebuck,"  said  my  Mother,  who  must  have  seen  us  coming  some 
time  before  we  reached  the  Roebuck.  My  Father  commented  and 
my  Mother  said  she  would  have  put  it  down  for  that  matter  as 
soon  as  ever  she  see  us,  only  she  wasn't  going  to  have  it  done 
to  a  cinder  while  he  was  a-soakin*.  It  would  have  been  just 
exactly  ready  only  for  my  Father's  'abits.  My  Father  said  with 
a  sigh  that  his  Roebucking  days  were  over,  but  he  hoped  there 
was  something  on  the  shelf.  My  Mother  said  there  was  enough  to 
go  round.  I  then  felt  that  progress  ought  to  be  made  with  what 
I  considered  the  Bill  before  the  House,  and  cut  in  to  the  effect 
that  Miss  Lossie  she  laughed  and  told  the  Cook,  and  the  Cook  she 
said  go  in  the  garden  and  pick  pears.  And  my  Mother  said, 
"*  Whatever  is  the  child  lecturin'  about,  with  his  Miss  Lossie  and 


44  JOSEPH   VANCE 

Cooks.  Go  along  in  and  cut  the  bread,  and  don't  cut  yourself." 
For  cutting  the  bread  at  dinner  was  a  valued  prerogative  of  mine. 

My  Father  indicated  a  slight  preliminary  explanation.  "The 
Nipper's  been  a-goin'  into  Society,  he  has,"  said  he.  He  seemed 
to  imply  that  he  had  been  kept  out  of  Society,  which  I  felt  sorry 
for — for  I  need  not  repeat  how  devoted  I  was  to  him.  But  it  was 
merely  his  usual  faQon-de-parler.  He  always  adopted  the  position 
of  injury  or  grievance. 

"Well,  Joey  dear,  eat  your  dinner  and  don't  choke  yourself, 
and  then  tell  us  all  about  Society." 

Meanwhile  my  Father  was  enjoying  a  third  and  entirely  dif- 
ferent aspect  of  a  revelation  to  be  given  out  or  retained — in  the 
possibilities  of  human  exasperation  afforded  by  withholding  it 
from  persons  desirous  of  benefiting.  My  Mother,  however,  un- 
derstood his  character  and  let  him  alone. 

The  beefsteak  obligingly  stood  in  its  gravy  on  a  dish  on  the 
rack  with  two  handles  that  pulled  out  under  the  fire-grate,  while 
my  Mother  climaxed  the  potatoes.  "We'll  have  'em  all  hot  to- 
gether," she  said.  So  we  had,  but  not  for  long — they  disappeared 
so  quick!  So  did  a  suet  dumpling,  and  then  at  last  I  was  free 
to  pour  out  my  treasure  at  my  Mother's  feet. 

It  took  some  time,  for  I  did  it  all  the  slower  for  my  anxiety  to 
tell  it  all  at  once.  This  caused  retrospection  and  correction.  I 
was  very  particular  about  exactly  where  Miss  Lossie  had  kissed 
me.  And  when  my  Mother  kissed  the  place  herself,  I  felt  that  my 
chubby  cheek  was  a  sort  of  connecting  link  between  my  Mother 
and  Miss  Lossie  Thorpe,  and  was  almost  equivalent  to  an  intro- 
duction. I  suppose  if  one  were  to  try  and  concoct  rapture  with- 
out alloy  for  a  living  creature,  one  could  do  no  better  than  arrange 
that  a  child  should  meet  an  Angel,  or  what  it  thought  an  Angel, 
and  should  go  home  and  tell  mother. 

"Well,  now,  Vance,"  said  my  Mother,  when  at  last  I  stopped 
gabbling  and  stuttering  about  Miss  Lossie,  "you  don't  seem  to 
have  anything  to  tell  us." 

"No  gettin'  in  a  word  between  these  Miss  Looeys,"  I  under- 
stood him  to  say.  "Here  I've  got  to  my  second  pipe,  and  it's 
nothin'  but  Miss  Looey,  Miss  Looey,  Miss  Looey." 

"  But  you  saw  Miss  Lossie  yourself,  Father,"  I  said,  suddenly 
plunging  onto  his  knee,  and  threatening  to  begin  again. — "  Oh, 
yes!  He'd  seen  a  tidy  sort  of  larce  in  a  lavender-coloured  frock." 
— I  nodded  violently. — "So  now  little  nippers  might  sit  quiet  on 
their  Fathers'  knees  and  let  their  Mothers  hear  about  Dr.  Corpse's 
drains — well !  — Thorpeses,  then !  " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  45 

"Nothin'  much  to  do,  I  should  say!  Just  proper  attention  to 
trappin'  and  not  sending  Niagarrer  down  the  shores  every  five 
minutes  to  keep  the  'ouse  'elthy,  and  they'll  do  well  enough  for 
another  three  year.  But  there  ain't  no  sile,  not  even  hereabouts 
where  it's  mostly  gravel,  that  can  be  expected  to  swallow  up  all  the 
water  that  an  old  lady  with  idears  will  empt'  down  'em  when  the 
water  supply  is  practically  unrestricted" — (this  came  in  almost 
with  the  literary  force  of  a  classical  quotation) — "and  a  old  lady 
has  no  other  mortal  emply'ment  in  life." — (It  was  Aunt  Isabella, 
then,  who  was  to  blame  for  the  flavour  all  through  the  basement, 
which  my  Father  readily  admitted  the  existence  of.) — "But  all  I 
say  is,"  he  went  on,  "  that  if  this  here  Dr.  What's-his-name  insists 
on  my  takin'  out  the  ground  in  his  front  garden  to  'unt  for  a 
shore  that  more  like  than  not  ain't  there  nor  anywhere  else,  I'll  do 
it  fast  enough,  but  it  ain't  my  recommendation  as  a  Practical 
Man,  and  I  wash  my  'ands  of  the  Expenses.  What  I  sticks  to  is 
stop  the  flushing  and  see  to  the  traps." 

"  Well,  but  now,  Vance  dear,"  said  my  Mother,  "  you  see  you 
do  know  a  lot  about  it ! " 

"  Only  just  as  much  as  a  man  is  born  with  when  he's  lived 
among  tradesmen  all  his  life,"  said  my  Father,  who  seemed  to  be 
in  some  confusion  about  the  period  of  life  at  which  Birth  occurs. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SHOWS  HOW  MR.  VANCE  OBTAINED  CAPITAL  AND  PLANT.      ALSO  HOW  HE 
CREATED  CONFIDENCE. 

THE  shock  to  my  belief  in  my  Father's  infallibility  occasioned 
by  the  miscarrying  of  the  celebrated  Smack  was  I  suppose  only 
skin-deep,  for  I  for  my  part  never  had  any  doubt  about  his 
qualifications  as  a  Builder.  If  I  had  had  any  latent  mistrust  of 
his  powers  it  would  surely  have  disappeared  in  the  interval  be- 
tween our  visit  to  Poplar  Villa  and  the  Monday  following,  when 
we  were  due  there  again  for  purposes  of  subterranean  explora- 
tion. For  I  accompanied  him  on  an  expedition  in  search  of 
Plant  and  Materials,  about  which  there  was  some  difficulty 
owing  to  his  enterprise  being  so  far  insufficiently  capitalized.  I 
like  this  sesquipedalian  way  of  saying  one  has  no  money.  One 
has  none,  just  the  same,  but  it  seems  so  much  easier  to  bear  one's 
lot! 

My  Father's  genius  rode  triumphant  over  all  obstacles.  First 
we  went  into  a  yard  where  there  were  all  sorts  of  Builders' 
Materials,  old  and  new,  on  sale  or  hire.  Now  what  would  be 
actually  wanted  for  his  immediate  purpose  was  obviously  a  peck, 
a  spade,  and  a  barrer.  He  said  so,  in  fact,  on  the  way.  So  I 
•was  surprised  when  he  opened  a  negotiation  for  the  hire  of  a 
very  long  ladder  which,  fastened  against  the  blank  side-wall  of  a 
house,  overtook  its  chimney-pot  and  shot  high  up  into  the  sky 
overhead.  Mr.  Gubbins,  the  yard-proprietor,  pointed  out  that  this 
ladder  was  almost  a  permanency — being  of  use  as  an  announce- 
ment of  the  business  to  the  four  home-counties;  and  though  of 
course  it  could  be  got  down,  it  would  run  into  Money.  My 
Father  observed  that  one  had  to  be  careful  nowadays  (this  ex- 
pression he  said  he  had  picked  up  from  his  grandfather — which 
seemed  to  annul  its  force),  but  pressed  to  know  how  much  money 
it  would  run  into.  Mr.  Gubbins  named  a  figure  which  caused 
him  to  remark,  in  effect,  that  had  he  been  quoting  for  Jacob's 
Ladder  he  couldn't  have  gone  farther.  The  subject  lapsed  and 
the  conversation  became  general.  Mr.  Gubbins  told  us  that  his 
Bon  Benjamin  was  a  blessing  to  his  parents,  and  had  only  yester- 

46 


JOSEPH  VANCE  47 

day  run  up  that  very  ladder  away  from  his  mother,  who  was  going 
to  give  him  what-for,  and  had  refused  to  come  down  without 
guarantees  that  his  trousers  should  remain  undusted.  "  So  we've 
had  to  lash  up  a  scaffold-board  agin  it,"  said  Mr.  Gubbins,  who 
chuckled  a  good  deal  at  his  wife's  expense.  "  Not  to  spile  it  with 
nails,"  he  added.  For  that  ladder  was  evidently  the  apple  of  his 
eye. 

My  Father  then,  before  going  away,  enquired  how  many  loads 
of  good  stocks  were  available  at  short  notice?  He  made  a  memo- 
randum on  this  point,  and  appeared  to  have  got  all  he  wanted, 
when  just  as  he  was  leaving  he  said  in  a  most  casual  way  that 
he  had  a  small  repairin'  job  down  the  road,  and  he  would  be 
sendin'  a  young  man  round  Monday  mornin'  for  a  'arf-bushel 
of  grey  lime  and  a  few  brick,  only  he  wouldn't  send  the  truck  'cos 
it  made  such  a  load  for  the  young  man  to  push,  as  he  wanted  him 
to  bring  a  barrer,  too,  and  he  could  just  as  easy  put  the  lime  and 
brick  on  the  barrer,  and  run  'em  round.  I  thought  I  saw  sus- 
picion in  Mr.  Gubbins's  eye,  but  my  Father  was  equal  to  the 
occasion,  adding  that  he'd  "got  the  address  somewhere,  had  it 
only  this  minute.  Dr.  Thorpe's,  Poplar  Villa."  Mr.  Gubbins 
had  better  keep  that  card,  and  he  himself  was  going  into  town  this 
afternoon  and  would  leave  word  for  Dr.  Thorpe  to  send  another 
for  Mr.  G.  to  know  the  young  man  by.  Mr.  Gubbins  knew  my 
Father's  place  (at  least  my  Father  said  he  did),  on  the  right,  past 
the  Roebuck. — And  to  my  great  impressment  Mr.  Gubbins  actually 
said  he  knew  it  well.  "I  see  your  name  up  often,  passing  along 
that  way,"  he  said. 

It  was  a  most  amazing  thing  how  every  one  (for  even  our 
Dustman  implied  that  it  must  have  been  there,  though  he  hadn't 
seen  it)  accepted  this  board  without  question,  and  even  in  some 
cases  professed  to  have  read  it  carefully  over  and  over  again  on 
our  doorpost,  while  it  was  still  forwarding  the  interests  of  the 
Mr.  C.  Dance,  into  whose  possession  it  had  come  (according  to 
my  Father)  through  an  error  in  the  spelling.  "In  coorse,"  he 
said,  "  he  was  justified  in  using  of  it — seein'  a  Dee  is  not  a  Vee, 
put  it  how  you  may!  But  they  might  as  well  have  done  it  right 
at  first  go-off,  for  all  I  seef"  Anyhow,  Mr.  Gubbins  seemed  to 
be  completely  satisfied  the  moment  it  was  mentioned,  and  didn't 
suggest  the  payment  of  a  deposit,  or  any  further  form  of  security. 

But  this  arrangement,  though  good  as  far  as  it  went,  only 
provided  such  Plant  and  Materials  as  can  be  got  on  hire  at  a 
Mr.  Gubbins's.  It  did  not  include  tools. 

And  this  evidently  occasioned  my  Father  serious  anxiety.    I 


48  JOSEPH  VANCE 

think  he  was  even  now  proposing  to  himself  a  blank  writing 
form  with  Christopher  Vance,  Builder,  and  his  address  at  the 
top,  and  even  the  expression  "  Memorandum " !  But  he  was 
most  reluctant  to  impair  the  power  these  would  give  as  a  handle 
for  Credit,  by  paying  Cash  for  small  purchases  just  as  if  he  were 
insolvent. — "No,  Joey,"  said  he,  "when  a  chap  thinks  you  know 
he  believes  in  your  solvency,  don't  you  ondeceive  him  by  orfer- 
ing  him  cash.  Then  he'll  know  you  think  he  believes  you  insol- 
vent, and  never  give  a  brass  farden  o'  credit.  'Cos  you  wouldn't 
think  any  man  would  b'lieve  you  insolvent  if  you  knowed  you  was 
in  funds.  Hay,  Joey  ? " 

I  felt  this  might  rank  as  a  complicated  mixture,  though  scarcely 
one  of  Mr.  Capstick's.  But  I  replied  to  my  Father's  last  question 
that  I  had  got  the  idear.  I  thought,  however,  that  there  being  no 
cash  to  pay  with  might  have  something  to  do  with  my  Father's 
objection  to  paying. 

We  were  then  working  slowly  down  the  main  road,  my  hand  in 
my  Father's.  The  sun  was  thinking  about  setting,  and  hesitating 
to  do  so  as  it  was  really  almost  too  fine  an  evening  to  go  to  bed. 
A  band  of  men  were  just  turning  off  the  railway  after  a  spell  of 
overtime,  and  seemed  to  have  taken  umbrage  at  their  employers. 
My  Father  entered  into  conversation,  and  the  young  man  he 
addressed  said,  "Right  you  are,  mate,  it's  always  the  way.  One 
minute  you're  workin'  ten  hours  overtime.  Next  minute  cut 
down  to  nothing!  Next  minute  overtime  again  worse  than  ever." 
He  explained  that  in  pursuance  of  this  system  two  hundred  were 
to  be  sacked  off  the  job  on  Saturday.  So  the  figures  were  figura- 
tive. My  Father  sympathized  deeply,  and  assented  to  all  the 
accusations  levelled  against  Railway  Contractors,  though  I  am 
sure  some  of  them  could  not  have  been  universally  true.  He  did 
this  without  echoing  the  "language"  these  young  men  called  themr 
I  think  out  of  consideration  for  the  Nipper.  But  I  ought,  in 
justice  to  my  Father,  to  say  that  he  always  admitted  transgression 
in  respect  of  his  use  of  bad  language,  and  indeed  drew  a  very 
sharp  line  as  to  how  far  he  went.  Perhaps  the  upper-middle 
class  does  not  fully  appreciate  the  nice  distinctions  that  exist  on. 
this  point  in  the  lower-middle  class  in  England.  They  are  real, 
nevertheless. 

Just  as  we  were  parting  from  the  young  man,  my  Father  sug- 
gested that  while  they  shared  a  pint  he  would  have  time  to  think 
of  whether  he  couldn't  find  a  small  job  for  him  to  keep  his  'and 
in. — I  was  glad  it  wasn't  a  quart,  after  experience. — It  was  shared,v 
And  my  Father  then  revealed  the  thought  he  had  had  time  for. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  49 

"You  might  look  round  at  my  job  at  Poplar  Wilier — Dr, 
Thorpe's — in  the  'Igh  Road  to  Town.  Monday  mornin',  about 
eight.  You  might  bring  round  a  peck  and  a  shovel."  The  young 
man  explained  that  he  hadn't  got  one  by  him — the  railway  con- 
tractors had  provided  their  own.  So  my  Father  said,  "Well,  he 
didn't  want  him  to  have  to  come  all  the  way  down  to  his  place 
past  the  Roebuck  and  then  back,  only  for  a  peck  and  shovel — so  let 
him  see!  Well,  he  might  look  in  on  the  way  at  Nichollses,  not 
Hee-phraim  Nichollses,  but  Jack  Nichollses  along  on  the  right — 
near  the  Fire-Ingins — you  know  him  ? "  The  young  man  did. 
It  was  quite  wonderful  how  many  people  knew  other  people! 
"  Well,"  said  my  Father,  "  you  mention  my  name — Christopher 
Wance — along  the  road  past  the  Roebuck,  and  I'll  venture  to  say 
he'll  accommodate  you  so  far  as  a  peck  and  a  shovel." 

And  my  Father  paid  honourably  for  the  pint,  and  we  started  for 
home. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CONCERNING  A  BARREL-DRAIN  WHICH  DID  NOT  EXIST.  OF  REPAIRS  TC 
THE  NURSERY  CHIMNEY  AND  HOW  JOE  WENT  UP  FT.  ALSO  WHAT 
A  GOOD  WASHING  HE  HAD. 

IT  is  told  of  Calverley  that  he  had  a  delight  in  jumping  ovei 
walls  if  he  didn't  know  what  was  on  the  other  side.  Jack 
Nicholls  must  have  been  like  him,  for  he  seemed  to  have  conceded 
the  peck  and  shovel  almost  without  digesting  the  testimonials  of 
his  applicant. — "  Never  seen  him — seen  his  Board  many's  thf 
time,"  was  the  young  man's  report  of  Mr.  Nicholls's  half  of  thv 
interview,  when  he  met  us  at  the  gate  of  Poplar  Villa  on  Monday 

"  I  told  him  it  was  all  right,"  said  the  young  man,  whose  name 
was  Bill  but  nothing  further,  "  and  he  said  I  could  take  'em." 
And  there  they  were,  sure  enough ! 

I  hope  you  observe  that  Jack  Nicholls  accepted  Bill's  warrant 
for  my  Father,  Bill  having  acquired  status  by  tendering  my 
Father's  warrant  for  himself!  It  was  like  Baron  Munchausen's 
descent  from  the  Moon;  when,  having  slipped  down  the  rope  as 
far  as  he  could  go,  he  made  use  of  "  the  now  useless  upper  half 
of  the  rope  "  to  carry  him  a  stage  lower  and  so  on  till  he  reached 
the  Earth. 

The  Libery  Beggar  was  at  breakfast,  but  would  come  out  to 
speak  to  the  Man  before  he  retired  into  his  Libery,  or  shell.  I 
clearly  saw  that  my  Father's  deference  to  Dr.  Thorpe  was  the 
basest  opportunism,  and  that  he  was  not  without  a  hope  that  an 
overweening  assumption  of  Drain  Lore  might  betray  his  employer 
into  a  disruption  of  the  foundation  of  Poplar  Villa  in  search  for  a 
non-existent  barrel-drain.  It  showed  (I  thought)  his  knowledge  of 
mankind  that  he  took  up  again  his  position  of  respectful  resistance 
to  the  Doctor's  opinions.  It  established  him  as  an  unselfish  pro- 
tector of  the  latter  from  needless  outlay,  but  at  the  same  time  exas- 
perated his  amour  propre,  and  stimulated  his  self-confidence  by 
opposition.  Dr.  Thorpe's  will  was  my  Father's  Law — that  it  was 
needless  for  him  to  say  1  And  this  young  man  would  start  at  once  if 
the  Doctor  said  the  word.  ^But,"  said  my  Father,  "if  you  ask 
me,  as  a  Practical  Man,  my  opinion  is — no  shore!  And,  if  cess- 

50 


JOSEPH  VANCE  51 

pools,  I  should  advise  the  adjestment  of  the  trappin',  and  keepin' 
back  of  the  water,  and  very  shortly  the  flaviour  complained  of 
will  subside  spontaneous."  But  Dr.  Thorpe's  back  was  up,  and 
he  insisted  on  penetrating  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  "I  take  all 
responsibility  on  my  own  shoulders,  Mr.  Vance,"  he  said — "you 
do  very  rightly  to  try  to  protect  me  from  all  expenses  that  can 
be  avoided,  but  in  this  case  I  prefer  to  incur  some  extra  outlay 
to  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter." 

So  my  Father,  who  desired  nothing  better,  assented  with  seem- 
ing reluctance  to  take  up  about  six  foot  of  ground  on  the  semi- 
circular carriage  drive;  which  was  sure,  he  said,  to  strike  on  the 
drain  and  at  the  same  time  avoid  taking  up  the  airey  and  dis- 
turbing too  near  the  house.  And  at  a  signal  from  him,  the  young 
man,  Bill,  who  had  been  standing  with  his  hands  open  in  front 
of  him  as  if  he  had  been  telling  his  own  fortune  by  Palmistry, 
spat  suddenly  upon  them,  and  seizing  a  peck,  or  pick,  began  to 
work  as  though  it  was  a  siege,  and  these  were  the  entrenchments. 
And  then  my  Father  said  that  if  no  wise  ill-convenient  he  could 
attend  now  to  that  little  matter  in  the  Nursery  while  his  young 
man  got  the  bit  of  ground  out. 

I  felt  that  my  hour  was  coming  now.  The  superiority  of  Miss 
Lossie  to  every  earthly  thing  was  certainly  shown  by  the  fact  that 
she  was  a  force  that  could  make  a  small  boy  of  eight  glad  to  for- 
sake the  intoxicating  delights  of  the  taking  out  of  ground  with- 
out a  regret.  For  Excavation,  whether  it  be  for  shores,  for 
treasure,  or  for  papyri  and  mummies,  is  an  absorbing  and  thrill- 
ing interest  almost  without  a  parallel.  It  is  usually  also  harmless, 
and  this  cannot  be  said  of  Vivisection  or  War,  or  Gambling  on 
the  Stock  Exchange.  In  this  case  if  it  had  not  been  for  expecta- 
tion of  seeing  Miss  Lossie,  I  should  have  hung  lovingly  over  that 
hole  watching  the  young  man,  Bill,  putting  his  back  into  it,  as 
my  Father  had  told  him  to  do.  As  it  was,  I  was  more  than  con- 
tent to  follow  my  Father  up  to  the  Nursery,  carrying  one  or  two 
minor  tools  that  he  had  contrived  to  provide.  He  himself  carried 
upstairs  a  'arf  a  bag  of  Sto'rbridge  clay,  and  a  little  board  with  a 
handle  sticking  straight  out  underneath.  This  was  for  wet  clay. 

Miss  Lossie  wasn't  in  the  Nursery,  and  I  was  sorry. 

"Will  the  Man  make  a  mess  ?" — It  was  Miss  Isabella,  the  silver- 
grey  Aunt,  who  spoke. — And  my  Father  replied,  abasing  himself 
duly,  "  There  won't  go  any  particular  mess,  Marm,  not  with  taking 
out  these  few  brick,  but  if  such  a  thing  was  'andy  as  a  piece  of 
canwas  or  box-cloth,  for  underfoot,  why,  perhaps  we  shouldn't  be 
any  the  worse  off  in  the  end." 


52  JOSEPH  VANCE 

It  took  time  to  interpret  this  to  Miss  Isabella,  whose  deafness 
seemed  to  me  to  go  beyond  "not  very."  When  success  crowned 
the  efforts  of  the  Nurse,  Anne,  Miss  Isabella  said,  "Well — you 
needn't  shout, — I  can  hear," — but  sanctioned  the  box-cloth  out  of 
the  lumber-room,  only  it  must  be  shaken.  It  arrived  in  due 
course,  and  my  Father  proceeded  to  dislocate  the  register  in  order 
to  get  at  the  bricks  that  had  fallen  forward  in  the  chimney  above. 
He  showed  some  amount  of  ill-temper  because  of  the  difficulty  of 
doing  this,  and  said  that  these  here  registers  was  always  out  of 
order,  there  was  no  doing  anything  with  them !  And  a  voice  said, 
"  That's  a  very  common  complaint  against  registers,  Mr.  Vance. — 
And  here's  the  Boy!  And  he  has  such  pretty  blue  eyes  I  should 
kiss  him  again,  only  he's  such  a  little  grubby  Pigmuddle!  But 
come  and  say  good-morning,  Master  Vance.  Because  I  suppose 
you  are  Master  Vance."  I  looked  at  my  Father  to  see  if  I  was, 
not  precisely  knowing,  and  he  gave  a  qualified  assent.  "  Wance — 
christened  Joey — p'r'aps  I  should  say  Joseph." — And  Miss  Lossie 
said  of  course  I  wasn't  christened  Master!  "He's  as  black  as 
any  Sweep,"  she  went  on;  and  I  shuddered  as  memory  rankled, 
"  and  he's  coming  all  off  on  my  hands,"  she  added. 

"You  go  a  mile  off,  Joey,  till  you've  done  with  the  soot,  and 
then  you  shall  be  washed  and  come  quite  close  to,  as  Anne  says, 
and  see  Picture  Books."  And  the  other  Joey,  who  of  course  was 
hooked  on  to  Miss  Lossie,  added,  "Wiv'  Sips,  and  sailors  falling 
out  of  them  by  ax'nent,  and  helephants,  and  Fenchmen  bein' 
killed  on  ballicades." — Of  course  I  didn't  know  what  barricades 
were.  But  I  knew  that  Foreigners  had  been  going  on  in  their 
usual  benighted  way,  and  looked  forward  to  pictures  of  them. 

Pictures,  however,  and  everything  else  were  impossible  while 
this  banging  went  on.  This  was  the  cutting  out  of  some  brick 
to  get  a  good  key,  my  Father  said.  We  shouldn't  be  a  minute,  he 
said — nor  were  we.  We  were  about  fifteen.  But  the  Public  was 
grateful  when  we  did  stop ;  and  said  through  Anne,  the  nurse,  as  a 
mouthpiece,  that  it  was  one  good  job  that  was  done,  and  then 
graciously  attended  to  my  Father's  request  for  a  pail  of  water. 
"  There  won't  be  no  more  noise,  not  to  call  noise,"  said  he, 
"  cleanin'  off  these  few  brick  for  to  go  back  where  they  come  from, 
bein'  the  mortar's  perished  with  the  heat.  On  which  accounts 
I  say  a  little  St'orbridge,  though  a  few  pence  more  at  the  first  go- 
off, is  an  economy  in  the  end,  put  it  how  you  may."  And  my 
Father  mixed  his  St'orbridge  on  the  hearthstone,  and  dwelt  on  the 
great  advantages  of  economy  and  foresight  in  the  Building  line. 

A  crisis  occurred,  however,  before  the  job  was  completed  and 


JOSEPH  VANCE  53 

the  register  replaced.  The  topmost  two  bricks,  which  had  fallen 
forward  and  checked  the  draught,  had,  of  course,  come  out  very 
easily.  But  for  a  man  with  very  broad  shoulders  to  get  far 
enough  up  the  chimney  to  replace  them  was  another  matter.  My 
Father  had  struggled  gallantly  with  his  difficulties  so  far,  and 
really  had  got  almost  as  black  as  Mr.  Peter  Gunn,  but  as  he  said 
one  had  to  dror'  a  line.  At  this  point  I  struck  in,  suggesting 
that  my  Father  should  h'iste  me  up  the  chimbley ;  should  then  just 
shove  a  little  St'orbridge  on  each  brick;  should  then  shove  it  up 
to  me,  who  would  then  make  nothing  of  shoving  of  it  into  its 
place.  My  Father  said,  "  Sharp  Nipper !  So  you  can !  We'll 
just  orfer  'em  in  first,  a  brick  at  a  time."  And  he  was  just  going 
to  hoist  me  up  as  proposed  when  he  was  pounced  upon  by  an  un- 
foreseen Philanthropist  in  the  person  of  Miss  Isabella,  who  inter- 
dicted the  employment  of  Climbing  Boys.  "No,  my  dear  Ran- 
dall," she  said  to  the  Doctor,  who  came  in  at  this  moment  to 
inspect  progress.  "  Not  in  this  house  while  I  am  here !  I  will  not 
permit  it." 

The  Doctor.—" Permit  what,  Isabella?" 

She. — "  Sweep's  Climbing  Boys.  The  Man  wishes  to  put  his 
son  up  the  Chimney " 

The  Doctor.— "Hm-m-m-m!" 

My  Father. — "  Asking  your  pardon  for  interruptin'  you,  Marm, 
by  no  means  without  yours  and  the  Doctor's  consent,  giv'  freely, 
though  my  own  son " 

The  Doctor. — "  Can't  you  manage  without,  Vance  ? " 

F. — "Well,  Sir,  you  see,  it's  just  like  this.  It's  the  matter  of 
two  or  three  brick,  or  maybe  two  brick  and  a  bat,  or  two  brick 
and  a  bat  and  a  closure " 

Dr.  T.— "In  fact  of  very  little  work?" 

F. — "Precisely  as  you  put  it,  Sir.  And  bein'  as  I  myself  am 
rather  big,  and  liable  to  jam  in  the  narrer  space,  this  here  little 
Nipper  (a  name  I  call  him  by,  Marm)  says,  says  he,  'You  'and  me 
in  the  bricks,  and  I'll  shove  'em  in  their  places,'  he  says.  And  I 
was  a-thinking  of  it  over  like  when  this  good  lady  come  in." 

Miss  I. — "No! — The  Man  was  not.  The  Man  was  going  to  put 
the  Boy  up  the  chimney." 

Miss  L.  (coming  in  with  an  armful  of  books). — "What's  the 
row,  Aunty?  Of  course  the  Boy  mustn't  go  up  the  chimney! 
He's  black  enough  already.  The  idea !  " 

Dr.  T. — "  How  far  up  the  chimney  would  he  be,  Vance  ? " 

Miss  L. — "  Yes — Joey — t'other  Joey !    How  far  up  would  you  be  ? " 

Myself. — "  Please,  Miss  Lossie,  only  this  far !  "    And  before  I 


54  JOSEPH   VANCE 

could  be  stopped  I  was  up  standing  on  the  hob  with  my  head  in 
the  flue.  I  heard  Miss  Lossie's  musical  laugh  ring  out  all  over 
the  place,  and  Anne  say  I  was  a  likely  young  chap,  as  the  gardener 
had  said.  They  all  seemed  agreed  about  my  probability. 

"  Anyhow,  my  dear  Isabella,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  The  Boy  is  up 
the  chimney  now,  and  perhaps  we  had  better  accept  the  situation. 
Unless  you  are  prepared  to  pull  him  down  by  the  legs " 

Aunt  Isabella  said  she  had  been  set  at  naught,  but  had  done 
her  duty.  Miss  Lossie  said  Anne  was  to  wash  the  Boy  carefully 
when  he  came  out,  as  he  was  then  to  come  and  look  at  pictures 
with  their  Joey.  Their  Joey  thrust  in  a  stipulation  that  these 
pictures  should  include  Sips  on  Fire,  and  Sips  on  Wocks,  and 
other  tragic  or  murderous  incidents. 

I  was  very  black,  no  doubt,  when  I  emerged  from  that  flue, 
though  Anne  the  Nurse's  estimate  of  the  quantity  of  soap  re- 
quired was  absurd.  She  said  a  bar  of  yellow  soap  wouldn't  be 
enough.  Anne  was  a  bony  woman  of  strong  character,  for  she 
declined  to  let  me  wash  myself,  and  soaped  me  with  a  vigour  far 
beyond  any  experience  of  washing  I  had  ever  had  up  to  that 
date.  My  method  had  been  Catlicking,  she  said.  And,  indeed, 
I  do  think  that  the  practice  of  applying  to  the  skin  a  very  small 
quantity  of  soap  as  a  lubricant,  and  then  polishing  with  violence, 
is  not  so  effective  as  the  creation  of  a  good  Larther,  and  coaxing 
it  round,  greasy-like!  I  borrow  some  of  my  description  from 
Anne.  Of  course  in  the  polishing  business  economy  is  attained, 
and  The  Soap,  by  which  phrase  I  indicate  the  piece  of  soap  cur- 
rent in  one  family  or  community,  goes  a  deal  farther.  One  has 
to  be  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  one's  mouth  if  one  is  going  to 
admit  the  expenditure  on  one  small  boy  of  the  amount  of  soap 
Anne  bestowed  upon  me. 

A  short  colloquy  with  Miss  Lossie  in  an  adjoining  room,  while 
I  was  towelling  myself,  led  to  the  reappearance  of  Anne  with  a 
beautiful  blue  woollen  shirt,  which  Master  Oliver,  it  would  seem, 
had  outgrown,  and  which  it  would  be  four  or  five  years  before 
Master  Joey  was  big  enough.  I  prefer  to  adhere  to  Anne's  syn- 
tax. I  put  this  on  gratefully;  but  carefully  rolled  up  my  own 
and  stuffed  it  in  my  coat  pocket,  that  Dr.  Thorpe's  household 
should  not  be  embarrassed  by  it. 


CHAPTEK 

HOW  3  *Y  HAD  MISS  LOSSIE's  ARM  ROUND  HIM  WHILE  HE  SAW  BOOKS, 
MIS?  VIOLET  CORRECTS  HER  SISTER.  MISS  LOSSffi's  TONGUE.  HOW 
JOE  WENT  HOME,  AND  HEARD  FROM  PORKY  OF  THE  BEAK.  HOW  MR. 
VANCE  HAS  ANOTHER  JOB,  ALL  DUE  TO  THE  MAGIC  BOARD. 

THE  choking  feeling  which,  do  what  I  may,  will  come  into  my 
throat  as  I  think  of  the  intensely  happy  hour  I  then  passed  look- 
ing at  pictures,  quite  close  to  Miss  Lossie,  with  the  other  Joe  on 
her  other  side,  only  interferes  with  my  narrative;  and  the  reader, 
if  young,  will  not  understand  it.  I  have  only  to  wait  a  minute  and 
it  disappears,  and  with  it  all  my  present  surroundings  as  I  write, 
and  all  the  long  half-century  between,  and  I  am  back  again  in 
the  Nursery  at  Poplar  Villa,  with  the  September  sun  streaming 
through  the  windows,  and  Miss  Violet  reading  one  of  the  books 
Miss  Lossie  had  got  at  Mudie's  in  Southampton  Row  when  she 
went  to  town  yesterday  afternoon.  And  Master  Joseph  chatter- 
ing rapid  and  predominant  commentaries  on  the  pictures  before 
us,  and  life  in  general.  And  then  it  all  becomes  so  real  that 
when  the  Water  comes  in  (as  it  does  suddenly  in  my  recollection) 
I  can  almost  absolutely  hear  through  the  open  door  the  gasping 
and  gurgling  of  that  practically  unlimited  supply  before  it  settles 
down  to  a  continuous  reproachful  roar.  And  then  my  memory 
of  Anne  shuts  my  memory  of  that  door,  by  request,  to  keep  that 
awful  noise  out,  and  the  memory  of  the  roar  becomes  a  memory 
of  a  murmur. 

"  I  wants  first  to  see  Sips  on  Fire,"  said  the  other  Joey.  "  No, 
I  dothn't — I  wants  first  to  see  black  men  pellishing." 

"  Now  which  do  you  really  want,  you  awful  boy  ? " 

"Athk  the  other  Boy,  that  Boy  there,"  pointing  at  me  as  if  I 
was  on  the  horizon. 

"Well,  Joey  Vance,  which  shall  we  have  first?  Ships  on  Fire, 
or  Black  men  perishing  by  Thousands  ? " 

I  said  Ships  on  Fire.  They  were  produced  and  gave  great 
satisfaction.  But  Master  Joseph  required,  in  addition  to  the 
picture,  a  consecutive  narrative  of  the  Battle  of  Trafalgar,  which 
had  to  coincide  exactly  with  previous  narratives.  If  it  did  not, 

55 


56  JOSEPH  VANCE 

he  immediately  pounced,  with  "You  thed  Captain  Toobridge 
before "  or  "  You  thed  shooted  wiv'  cannonballs  before  "  or  some 
such  correction.  However,  we  got  through  the  story  in  time,  and 
left  Nelson  dying  on  the  quarter-deck.  But  by  the  time  this  was 
done,  Master  Joseph  had  ceased  to  long  for  Black  Men  Perishing 
by  Thousands,  which  I  had  anticipated  with  pleasure,  and  de- 
manded the  Barricades  of  Paris.  However,  it  didn't  much 
matter,  where  all  was  too  good  to  be  true,  especially  Miss  Lossie. 

This  young  lady  contrived  to  keep  up  a  conversation  with  her 
sister  in  spite  of  the  severe  demands  of  Master  Joseph  and  myself. 
And  this  conversation  seemed  to  be  divisible  into  two  distinct 
halves,  the  one  having  an  absolutely  public  character  and  the 
other  consisting  of  subordinated  telegraphic  remarks  of  a  per- 
sonal sort. 

I  could  show  this  clearly  in  printing  by  the  introduction  of  two 
different  types.  But  as  I  have  not  any  intention  of  availing  my- 
self of  that  resource,  I  will  give  the  conversation  consecutively  as 
nearly  as  I  recollect  it — 

V. — "Well ! — Aunt  may  say  what  she  likes,  but  I  do  not  see,  and 
never  shall  see,  how  people  are  to  drive  up  to  the  door  on  Thurs- 
day if  the  whole  place  is  to  be  dug  up  for  drains. — Your  hair's 
coming  down — stick  it  up  with  this." 

L. — "  Well,  but  Joey  Vance's  Papa  is  going  to  attend  to  that. 
Thankee,  dear,  you're  a  good  little  sister  at  times,  though  snappy. 
Isn't  he,  t'other  Joey?" 

Me.—"  Yes— Miss  Lossie." 

L. — "  And  you  know,  Pa  isn't  a  downright  fool.  Besides,  how 
can  it  matter  to  you,  when  you  say  you  won't  come  downstairs  ? " 

V. — "  If  those  odious  Shuckf ord  Smiths  are  coming,  you  know 
perfectly  well  I  shan't. — As  if  you  didn't  know  what  Miss  Shuck- 
ford  Smith's  half -sister  called  you!  But  even  if  Pa  was  the  very 
cleverest  F.  R.  S.  of  the  whole  lot,  I  don't  see  how  carriages  could 
drive  up  to  the  door  with  all  the  Drains  up " 

L. — "  They  won't  have  to,  Vicey  dear !  What  did  Miss  Shuck- 
ford  Smith's  half-sister  call  me?  Because  you  know  there's  to 
be  nothing  serious  done  to  the  drains  till  we  go  to  Herne  Bay." 

V. — "  Anyhow,  Lossie  dear,  you  may  talk  till  you're  hoarse,  but 
every  one  knows  what  Papa  is,  and  that  he's  perfectly  capable  of 
making  the  whole  front  garden  into  holes  and  heaps.  A  Piece 
of  Goods!  You  know  you  knew  that  as  well  as  I  did " 

L. — "Yes — Joey  darling — I'll  draw  you  a  very  fat  man  being 
shooted.  I  don't  see  that  it  signifies  if  she  did  call  me  a  Piece  of 
Goods " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  57 

V. — "  Yes — but  what  becomes  of  one's  dignity,  I  should  like  to 
know,  if  one  goes  downstairs  and  speaks  to  the  family  after  Miss 
Shuckford  Smith's  or  anybody's  half-sister  has  called  one's  sister 
a  Piece  of  Goods.  And  as  for  Herne  Bay,  detestable  place,  I  hope 
we  shall  go  somewhere  else.  Not  really  that  it  much  matters,  for 
wherever  we  go  I  suppose  you'll  go  pounding  and  floundering 
about  without  your  sunshade  and  getting  pitch-black  all  over." 

Miss  Violet  gave  for  a  minute  a  closer  attention  to  the  book 
from  Mudie's  which  she  had  been  more  or  less  reading  the  whole 
time.  But  she  was  not  long  in  abeyance.  She  suddenly  un- 
masked a  Battery,  the  ammunition  of  which  may  be  said  to  have 
been  provided  in  her  last  remark. 

"Anyhow,"  she  said,  "it's  to  be  hoped  you  don't  mean  to  go 
about  with  your  tongue  hanging  out  like  a  little  dog.  There's 
the  Bell!" 

There  it  certainly  was — and  the  hour  was  over!  I  had  paid 
very  little  attention  to  the  Pictures,  for  I  scarcely  took  my  eyes 
off  Miss  Lossie.  It  had  been  decreed  that  I  should  have  plenty 
to  eat  in  the  kitchen;  so  I  adjourned  with  Anne. 

I  must  not  forget  to  explain  about  the  little  dog.  Miss  Lossie, 
in  the  effort  of  artiatic  creation  she  had  been  called  on  for,  had 
certainly  made  her  tongue  visible,  but  only  as  a  small  kitten  some- 
times does,  showing  a  little  red  spot  between  closed  lips.  She 
paid  no  attention  to  her  sister's  gun-practice,  and  went  on  putting 
in  additional  military  men  to  shoot  the  very  fat  man.  But  Master 
Joey  took  up  the  matter,  and  put  the  tongue  back,  and  pinched  the 
lips  over  it  with  his  fat  little  fingers.  And  Miss  Lossie  kissed  him 
a  good  deal,  and  said,  "You  little  Ducky." — Now  I  thought  his 
conduct  presumptuous  and  ruffianly. 

I  suppose  I  was  very  hungry  after  all  my  bricklaying  exertions 
and  unaccustomed  ablutions  and  excitements;  for  the  only  two 
things  I  remember  are  the  dinner  itself  and  a  report  that  came 
from  the  Dining-Room  that  Miss  Violet  had  said  that  she  should 
go  and  eat  her  lunch  in  the  nursery,  if  they  were  going  to  talk 
about  drains  all  dinner  time.  Our  informant,  the  House-Par- 
lourmaid, hoped  she  didn't  expect  her  to  carry  the  pudding  up- 
stairs and  bring  it  down  again  for  other  people's  second  helpings 
afterwards,  that  was  all!  I  felt  the  name  of  this  young  woman's 
office  was  oppressively  long.  However,  her  own  was  Betsy,  and 
that  made  up  for  it. 

I  had  been  very  silent  throughout,  merely  secreting  plums  of 
event  to  be  reproduced  for  my  Mother  later — and  of  course  devour- 
ing Miss  Lossie,  whose  left  hand  went  round  my  head  at  intervals 


58  JOSEPH   VANCE 

and  pinched  my  left  cheek;  rather  I  thought  to  the  disgust  of 
Miss  Violet.  Did  I,  I  wonder,  actually  hear  the  expression 
"  vulgar  little  boy,"  or  was  it  some  wandering  brain-wave  ?  No — 
I  am  afraid  Miss  Violet  did  call  me  a  vulgar  little  boy. 

I  rejoined  my  Father  in  the  front  garden  after  this  experience, 
and  my  Father  said  he'd  been  wondering  what  had  become  of  the 
Nipper.  I  replied,  "  Oy  say,  Father,  oy  got  such  a  Fizzing  new 
shirt.  Miss  Lossie  she  said  give  me  one  of  Master  Oliver's."  He 
hoped  I  had  said  thankee,  as  dooty  bound;  and  I  nodded  my  head 
rapidly  with  my  lips  tight  shut,  which  was  rather  a  habit  of  mine. 
He  then  distinguished  that  such  beautiful  clean  young  Masters 
wasn't  for  the  likes  of  him  and  William  (normally  Bill),  and 
drains  was  drains  all  the  world  over,  while  on  the  other  hand 
clean  shirts  were  clean  shirts;  and  that  in  order  to  keep  their 
spheres  of  influence  separate,  young  Nippers  might  just  as  well 
cut  off  home  to  their  Mothers,  and  tell  them  that  their  Fathers 
would  be  'arf-an-hour  late  to  tea. 

William  said,  "Right  you  are,  Master/'  and  resumed  work, 
which  now  appeared  to  be  filling  in  the  six  foot  of  ground  which 
had  been  taken  out  in  the  morning.  I  inferred  that  my  Father 
had  been  right  about  the  culvert  or  barrel-drain,  and  that  Dr. 
Thorpe  would  have  to  pay  for  being  satisfied  of  its  non-existence. 

My  Father  was  more  than  half-an-hour  late  to  tea — more  than 
an  hour  and  a  half;  and  I  was  not  sorry,  as  it  gave  me  more 
time  to  place  the  subject  of  Miss  Lossie  in  all  possible  lights 
before  my  Mother.  It  also  gave  margin  for  an  interview  with 
Porky  Owls,  whom  I  had  scarcely  seen  since  the  day  at  the  Police- 
Court.  This  interview  took  the  form  of  a  game  at  Peg-in-the- 
Ring ;  a  glorious  game  when  you've  got  a  piece  of  soft  whip-cord, 
well  wore  but  not  wore  out.  The  nickname  of  Porky,  by  the  way, 
originated  in  this  game,  its  bearer  having  been  "  christened "  by 
it  after  the  pieces  of  Bacon  or  split  tops  which  are  the  coveted 
prizes  of  the  players.  Porky's  pockets  always  teemed  with  them. 
He  was  a  great  Master  and  always  gave  me  odds,  usually  winning 
back  his  own  Bacon,  and  some  of  mine  as  well.  On  this  occasion 
the  conversation  went  naturally  back  to  the  Police-Court,  where 
Porky  had  contrived  to  insert  himself  to  study  Mankind,  and 
provide  himself  with  gossip,  of  which  indeed  his  mind  was  as 
full  as  his  pockets  were  of  Bacon. 

"  I  heard  that  Beak  talking  about  you,"  said  he,  "  an'  he  giv'  out 
that  he  b'lieyed  all  you  said,  only  he  warn't  going  to  have  it 
Evidence,  'cos  he  warn't  sweet  on  Gunn,  and  provocation  might 
hare  ensoo'd  and  then  it  might  have  got  him  off  being  sent  for 


JOSEPH  VANCE  59 

trial  and  hanged  for  manslaughter  if  your  Guv'nor  was  to  kick 
up.  Accordin'  as  the  Inquest." 

Down  went  Porky's  top  with  a  whizz,  and  striking  with  deadly 
accuracy  in  the  little  heap  of  Bacon  in  the  centre  of  the  ring, 
sent  most  of  it  flying  outside  the  circumference.  When  he  had 
recovered  his  winnings  he  resumed  the  Magistrate. 

"  'Cos,  o'  coorse — he  says— the  Coroner's  inquest  may  say  Gunn 
done  it,  or  they  may  find  a  werdict  to  the  effeck  that  the  Pris- 
oner was  killed  in  a  Prize  Fight  and  there  was  no  means  o' 
knowin'  how  he  came  by  his  end.  But  anyhow,  he  says,  the 
Boy's  Evidence  goes  to  prove  provocation  of  an  obstrusive  nature 
on  Vance's  part,  and  when  a  boy  says  he'll  go  to  heaven  for  tell- 
ing lies,  he  says,  why  o'  coorse  you  reject  his  Evidence,  no  mat- 
ter how  much  you  believe  it.  So  if  it  goes  to  trial,  he  says,  I 
hope  they'll  swaller  down  the  wink  I  tipped  'em,  and  reject  the 
Boy's  Evidence.  But  he  was  a  most  truthful  little  Boy,  he  says, 
and  very  intelligent. — My  turn !  "  And  down  came  the  top  again. 
"  Arter  the  Court  this  was,  and  he  was  a-goin'  out  to  lunch  with 
a  loydy,  and  I  overheared  their  conversation  at  the  cabstang  while 
the  clorths  was  took  off." 

As  soon  as  Porky  had  won  all  my  Bacon,  I  returned  home  to 
my  Mother  and  found  my  Father  wasn't  quite  home  yet.  She 
suggested  that  I  should  run  up  the  road  to  head  him  off  from  the 
Roebuck,  which  I  did,  but  found  he  had  already  passed  it;  and 
though  he  claimed  to  be  morally  entitled  to  at  least  half-a-pint 
for  resisting  temptation,  he  didn't  go  back  to  get  it.  Indeed,  the 
change  in  my  Father — obviously  the  result  of  that  Magic  Board — 
was  most  remarkable.  It  stimulated  a  healthy  self-respect,  not 
to  say  an  inflated  egotism.  As  we  came  up  to  the  door  he 
looked  at  it  with  intense  satisfaction; — "  C.  Vance,  Builder — 
Repairs,"  said  he,  "  Hay,  Joey  ? "  and  then  murmured  reflectively 
to  himself,  "  Drains  promptly  attended  to." 

"Risin'  in  life  we  are,"  said  my  Mother,  as  she  made  the  tea.- 
"  Here's  Joey  got  a  Young  Lady  gives  him  new  shirts,  and  as  for 
you,  Wance,  you've  ackchly  got  a  job." 

"  Two  jobs,"  said  my  Father,  briefly. 

"  What — another  job !  "  cried  my  Mother.  "  You  never  mean 
that,  Vance?" 

"I  said  two  jobs,"  said  my  Father.  "When  you've  got  one 
job,  if  you're  a-goin'  to  make  it  up  to  two,  you'll  have  to  pervide 
another.  You'll  find  I  ain't  mistaken!  And  I  ain't  neither, 
unless  I'm  very  much  mistook.  'Cos,  you  count  'em  off  on  your 
fingers,  Joey!  There's  this  here  little  job  I've  in  'and  for  your 


60  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Miss  Lorcy's  Papa,  Dr.  Whatever-you-choose-to-call-him.  Well! 
that's  one,  ain't  it  ?  Count  him  on  your  fingers. — One !  " 

M. — "Well,  now,  Vance,  do  go  along  with  your  chaff,  and  tell 
us  right  off " 

F. — "  I'm  a-tellin'  of  you  right  off.  You've  got  him,  Joey,  have 
you?  Wery  good.  Then  there's  this  here  other  job,  round  be- 
hind the  School-House.  He's  two.  Got  him?" 

M . — "  Now  whoever  would  have  thought,  to  see  you  come  in  at 
that  there  door,  that  you  had  three  Building  jobs.  And  your 
Board  not  up  a  month !  " 

F. — "  Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  Mrs.  Wance,"  and  .here  my 
Father's  peculiar  manner  became  perceptible.  "How  many  have 
you  counted  up  to,  Joey  ? " 

3fe._«Two " 

F. — "Two  I  sticks  to!  And  a  wery  nice  number  in  itself 
though  not  so  large  as  might  be.  And  unreasonable,  I  says,  to 
ask  for  more.  So  now,  Mrs.  Wance !  " 

And  my  Father,  having  developed  the  manner  I  cannot  describe, 
burst  into  a  genial  laugh  and  spoke  through  his  nose.  His  little 
ruse  having  entrapped  his  victim,  his  good-humour  became  jovial. 

"Where  did  I  say  this  here  job  was?  Up  behind  the  School- 
'us,  I  said,  and  I  believe  it  is — but  I  haven't  seen  it  myself." 
And  my  Father,  having  sufficiently  stimulated  our  curiosity,  sud- 
denly retired  behind  an  impenetrable  screen  of  secrecy;  but  was, 
I  think,  a  little  taken  aback  when  my  Mother  left  him  there  and 
went  back  to  Poplar  Villa.  What  was  it  wrong  with  them  drains, 
after  all? 

My  Father  was,  I  am  convinced  at  this  time,  practising  impos- 
ture on  my  Mother  as  a  lay-figure  with  a  view  to  more  mature 
practice  later  on  The  Life.  So  he  almost  went  through  the  pre- 
tence of  thinking  a  minute,  about  which  small  job  my  mother 
referred  to,  before  replying — 

"Them  Drains  at  Popular  Wilier?  O'  coorse  as  I  said!  No 
Shore!  This  here  good  Gentleman  he's  so  wery  wise,  he  is,  and 
no  respect  for  Experience,  he  hasn't — and  then  it's  gettin'  'arf  the 
front  garden  up,  and  I'd  told  'im!  All  the  same,  this  I  will  say, 
that  his  behaviour  in  admitting  himself  wrong  is  quite  the  Gen- 
tleman, and  liberal  amends!  'Mr.  Wance,'  says  he,  'I  see  that 
I  was  mistaken  and  you  were  perfectly  right/  And  then  he  says 
what  did  I  recommend?  And  of  course  I  says  the  underground 
arrangements  (as  I  calls  'em  for  to  avoid  the  old  Lady  goin'  into 
Convulsions)  would  probly  be  under  the  lawn,  and  could  be  found 
by  piercing  with  a  p'inter-rod,  and  avoid  entrenchments  on  the 


JOSEPH  VANCE  61 

Doctor's  porket.  And  my  young  man  on  the  job,  William,  he 
agrees  with  me.  And  the  old  lady,  she  weeps,  she  does,  and  says 
they're  livin'  over  a  Plague-Pit,  and  the  only  wonder  is  they 
haven't  all  got  Asiatic  Cholera  and  Typhus.  And  I  says  to  her, 
'  You're  a  rare  lot  safer,  Mann,  over  these  here  Plague-Pits  than 
you  would  be  if  they  was  to  connect  you  with  the  Main  Shore  in 
the  road.'  And  she  says,  oh  she  do  hope  the  Man  is  right,  but  oh 
she  do  wish  dear  Randall  you'd  never  taken  the  house  on  a  twenty- 
one  years'  lease.  But  they  must  give  notice  at  the  end  of  the 
first  seven,  that  was  flat.  And  Dr.  T.  he  says  then  there  was  still 
four  years  of  peace  and  quiet." 

"But,  Vance  dear,  see  what  a  lot  you  do  know!  Who'd  ever 
have  thought  of  p'inter-rods  ?" 

"Well,  my  dear,  let  us  give  credit  where  credit  is  due!  William 
(the  young  man  I  mentioned  as  working  on  that  job)  is  dooly 
entitled  to  credit,  as  having  mentioned  a  p'inter-rod  to  me  afore 
I  happened  to  mention  it  to  Dr.  T.  as  in  coorse  I  should  have 
done.  Let  us  hope  that  William  may  be  long  spared  to  do 
sim'lar."  My  Father  appeared  to  finish  his  cup  of  tea  in  honour 
of  his  sentiment.  "  I've  squared  it  up  with  Dr.  T.,"  he  continued, 
"  that  so  soon  as  the  family  is  gone  to  'Urn  Bay  the  ground  shall 
be  opened  and  the  ree-ceptacles  emptied  of  their  n'isome  contents, 
meanwhile  stip'lating  that  when  he  ketches  that  old  party  'oldin' 
like  Grim  Death  onto  'andles  that  sends  cataracks  of  water  down, 
he  shall  just  collar  hold  of  her  and  put  her  under  restraint  as  a 
loonatic.  As  to  the  rest,  it's  a  plumber's  job,  and  I  shall  arrange 
to  have  it  done.  'Enderson  in  the  'Orpington  Road,  or  Packleses 
niece's  'usband  over  Clapham  way — either  o'  them  '11  make  a  job 
of  it." 

I  think  I  have  given  sufficient  detail  of  my  Father's  first  ex- 
ploit in  the  Building  line  to  indicate  the  reasons  of  his  subse- 
quent success.  He  was  really  very  shrewd,  and  had  a  keen  per- 
ception of  the  sort  of  wisdom  shown  by  the  Brave  Little  Tailor 
in  the  German  child's  story,  who  sits  in  the  branches  while  the 
Giant  carries  the  tree,  and  the  moment  he  stops  jumps  down  and 
pretends  he  has  been  working  equally  hard.  In  all  cases,  the 
actual  work  was  done  by  William,  or  by  Henderson's  in  the 
Orpington  Road,  or  by  Mrs.  Packleses  niece-by-marriage's  hus- 
band, or  some  similar  ally.  He  always  contrived  to  beg  off  paying 
the  Giants  till  his  employers  settled  the  accounts,  and  for  a  long 
time  was  most  discreet  about  overcharges — actually  taking  Dr. 
Thorpe  into  his  confidence  and  showing  him  quite  truthfully  that 
seven  and  a  half  per  cent,  was  the  outside  commission  that  he 


62  JOSEPH   VANCE 

received  on  the  total,  and  then  deducting  two  and  a  half  per  cent, 
for  a  cash  settlement.  Dr.  Thorpe,  however,  refused  to  make 
this  reduction,  saying  that  he  did  not  see  why  he  should  filch  Mr. 
Vance's  just  earnings  as  a  bribe  to  pay  his  debts  honourably. 
But  Dr.  Thorpe  was  not  a  Man  of  Business. 

It  must  have  cost  my  Father  almost  as  great  an  effort  to  be  thus 
abstemious  as  it  did  to  pass  the  Roebuck  unvisited.  He  managed 
both  somehow,  and  job  followed  job  with  surprising  rapidity. 
And  every  day  as  he  came  home  to  Stallwood's  Cottages  he  looked 
with  placidity  at  the  great  Board,  and  murmured  through  its 
impressive  contents,  nodding  slowly  at  the  punctuations.  And 
well  he  might,  for  the  Board  had  done  it  all ! 

I  wonder  whether  C.  Dance,  whoever  he  was,  fell  away  and 
perished  neglected  after  the  disappearance  of  his  Board! 


CHAPTER  IX 

HOW  JOEY  PAID  ANOTHER  VISIT  TO  POPLAR  VILLA,  AND  HOW  HE  SHOCKED 
MISS  VIOLET.  HOW  HE  WENT  UP  INTO  THE  LIBRARY  AND  SAT  ON  DR. 
THORPE'S  KNEE  AND  DID  EUCLID.  HOW  HE  WEPT  ABOUT  MISS  LOSSIE. 
HOW  DR.  T.  OFFERED  HIM  AN  EDUCATION.  AND  OF  THE  SAD  COL- 
LAPSE OF  PETER  GUNN,  TESTE  PORKY  OWLS. 

I  RESUME  my  recollections  of  Poplar  Villa  during  the  short 
interval  before  the  family's  departure  for  Herne  Bay,  where  they 
went  in  spite  of  the  lamentations  of  Miss  Violet. 

For  when  I  made  my  appearance  one  morning  by  a  special 
appointment  of  Miss  Lossie's,  the  very  first  thing  I  heard  was 
this  young  martyr's  resignation  coming  into  the  breakfast  room 
through  the  conservatory,  which  was  on  the  way  into  the  garden. 

Master  Joseph  was  on  the  breakfast  table  on  his  stomach,  draw- 
ing an  assassination,  and  saturating  his  lead  pencil  injudiciously. 
He  descended  suddenly  when  he  saw  me,  bringing  the  tablecloth 
with  him,  and  exclaiming,  "  The  Boy  ith  to  be  took  staight  to 
Lothie  and  no  nonthenth,"  proceeded  to  push  me  from  behind,  as 
though  I  had  been  a  perambulator,  into  the  back  garden.  Looking 
back  now  through  my  exact  recollection  of  his  words,  I  conjecture 
with  their  help  a  previous  interview  of  the  two  sisters  in  which  the 
elder  had  expressed  a  hope  that  at  least  I  should  have  to  wait 
outside  a  little  (for  discipline),  and  the  younger  had  driven  her 
coach  and  six  through  it  with  destructive  energy. 

Being  pushed  into  the  back  garden  by  my  namesake,  I  found 
Miss  Lossie  turning  the  practically  unlimited  supply  of  water 
on  to  the  flower-beds;  while  her  sister  in  a  garden  chair  under 
a  parasol,  and  reading  as  usual  a  Novel,  was  also  denouncing 
Herne  Bay  and  complaining  of  the  absence  of  sympathy  for  her- 
self in  an  unfeeling  world.  I  was  struck  by  the  likeness  to  Mrs. 
Packles.  But  I  did  feel  that  the  latter  had  the  better  right  to 
complain,  contrasting  in  my  own  mind  the  difference  between  life 
at  the  Wash-tub  in  an  atmosphere  of  soapy  steam,  and  life  at 
Poplar  Villa  tainted  only  by  effluvia  which  demanded  the  nose  of 
an  Expert  to  detect  them. 

"And  you  know  perfectly  well  the  weather  will  be  quite  fine 

63 


64  JOSEPH   VANCE 

and  smooth  till  we  pass  the  Nore — it  always  is!  And  then  we 
shall  all  have  to  go  down  and  be  sick  in  the  cabin,  except  you  and 
Joey.  And  I  declare  I  won't!  If  I  get  drenched  through  to 
the  skin,  I'll  stop  on  deck — I  declare  I  will." 

L. — "Very  well,  dear,  stop  on  deck.  Here's  Joey  Vance. 
Have  you  ever  been  at  sea,  Joey  Vance  ? " 

Me. — "Yes,  Miss  Lossie,  please!  My  Father  took  me  down 
the  river  in  the  penny  Paddle-Wheel  Boat.  And  when  the 
chimbley  came  right  down  on  deck  under  the  Bridges  I  wasn't 
frightened.  O  such  a  lot  of  black  smoke!  And  then  wunst  there 
was  a  Boy  taller  than  me  stood  just  under  where  the  chimbley 
came  down,  and  it  came  on  his  head,  and " 

V. — "Do  stop  that  Boy  saying  wunst,  and  make  him  say  once. 
I  suppose  that's  not  impossible " 

L. — "  Say  once,  Joey  Vance." 

Me. — "Once"   (very  clearly  and  decisively). 

V. — "You  see  he  can  do  it  perfectly,  if  he  chooses.  Only  of 
course  you  encourage  him  in  everything " 

L. — "How's  the  book  getting  on,  Vicey  dear?  And  what  hap- 
pened to  the  boy,  Joey  Vance?" 

Me. — "  Him  what  was  taller  than  me — heaps  he  was — and  the 
chimbley  came  down  a  awful  crack,  and  they  picked  him  up  and 
said  it  was  an  accident.  And  wunst  the  chimbley  would  not  go 
back » 

V. — "  There's  that  Boy  saying  wunst  again,  and  it  gets  on  my 
nerves.  I  wish  you  wouldn't." 

L.— "It  isn't  me,  dear!    Was  the  boy  killed,  Joey?" 

Me. — "  Oh  yes,  it  was  an  accident.  But  please,  Miss  Lossie,  I 
thought  I  was  only  to  say  once  wunst,  and  done  with  it ! " 

Miss  Lossie's  laugh  had  the  most  infectious  character.  This 
time  it  caught  on  in  the  greenhouse  among  some  canaries,  and 
they  sang  without  stopping  a  long  time  on  end.  It  also  started 
Betsy  singing  "  Mary  Blane,"  in  the  drawing-room,  where  she  was 
dusting  the  ornaments. 

L.— "Poor  little  Boy!  Was  he  really  killed?  Yes,  Joey 
Vance — say  once  always,  won't  you,  dear,  for  my  sake  ?  " 

I  said  of  course,  Miss  Lossie!  And  Master  Joey,  I  suppose 
feeling  that  a  practical  illustration  would  be  useful,  forthwith 
began,  "  Wunth,  wunth,  wunth,  wunth,  wunth,"  and  had  to  be 
stopped.  "Though  really,  Joey  ducky,"  said  Miss  Lossie,  "I 
shall  have  to  find  a  new  way  of  stopping  your  jaw.  You  do 
splutter  in  the  moistest  way,  right  into  one's  mouth." 

V.— "Disgusting  child!" 


JOSEPH  VANCE  65 

Me. — "  And  next  day  after  that,  Miss  Lossie,  the  Wasp  blowed 
up  and  all  her  Engine  Bilers  and  every  soul  perished ! " 

Master  /.—"By  fousands?" 

L. — "I  remember!  The  Wasp  was  the  name  of  the  boat. 
How  shocking!  And  you  and  your  Father  might  have  been  en 
board " 

/. — "But  we  wasn't! — And  Mr.  Capstick  said  that  we  should 
rejoice  when  we  reflected  that  all  them  Souls  was  hurled  into 
eternity  and  they  might  have  been  me  and  my  Father "  (sen- 
sation). 

V. — "If  this  child  is  going  on  with  his  dreadful  dissenting 
Little  Bethel  rubbish,  I  shall  go  indoors  for  one.  And  I  do 
think,  Lossie,  you  might  check  him  a  little  instead  of  rolling  on 
the  grass  with  that  shocking  child,  with  his  unendurable  legs,  and 
splitting  with  laughter." 

Miss  Lossie  recovered  herself  slowly  on  to  her  knees,  and  re- 
leased her  long  eyelashes  from  hairdrift,  which  she  patted  into 
its  place,  and  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  wrists  en  passant.  She  then 
settled  down  on  the  lawn  with  her  hands  round  her  knees.  I  can 
see  the  hair-bracelet  she  had  on  one  wrist  now. 

L. — "Sit  on  my  skirts,  Joey  ducky,  and  be  quiet!  Yes,  they 
perished  by  fousands.  But,  t'other  Joey,  who  is  Mr.  Cap- 
stick?" 

V.— "  Then  I  shall  go  in !  " 

L. — "  Cut  away,  Vicey  dear !    But  who  is  he,  Joey  Vance  ? " 

Me.— "The  Minister  of  the  Lord "  For,  indeed,  I  really 

believed  he  was  par  excellence  THE  Minister,  and  that  others 
might  have  been  dismissed,  or  might  be  waiting  for  their  port- 
folios, but  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Rev.  Capstick  was  the 
only  one  at  present. 

V. — "  Very  well,  then,  Lossie !  I  see  you  really  want  me  to  go 
in,  and  I'll  go!" 

L. — "No — no — Vicey  dear!  She  shan't  go  in,  she  shan't! 
You'll  tell  me  all  about  Mr.  Capstick  some  other  time,  won't  you, 
Joey  Vance?" 

Me. — "  Yes — Miss  Lossie ! "  So  an  armistice  was  arranged,  and 
Miss  Violet  consented  to  remain  out  on  condition  that  religious 
subjects  should  be  tabooed. 

I  wonder  how  young  Christians  of  Miss  Violet's  sensibilities 
managed  to  scrat  on  in  the  first  century!  It  must  have  been 
trying. 

Miss  Lossie,  however,  having  conceded  the  point,  honourably 
adhered  to  secular  subjects.  Under  catechism,  I  showed  myself 


66  JOSEPH  VANCE 

lamentably  ill-informed.  I  had  not  been  to  the  Zoological  Gardens, 
nor  to  the  British  Museum,  nor  to  St.  Paul's.  I  need  not  say 
that  the  last  only  came  in  in  its  secular  capacity,  as  a  sight. 
But  then  I  knew,  and  was  proud  to  know,  a  Boy  who  had  been 
in  the  Thames  Tunnel.  This  was  Gummy  Harbuttle.  And  Miss 
Lossie  said  good  gracious  what  a  name  for  a  human  boy  to  have! 
I  explained  that  the  name  Gummy  was  short  for  Charles  Augus- 
tus. -Never  having  known  it  in  any  other  capacity,  it  seemed  to 
me  to  contain  the  essence  of  Charles  Augustus  in  two  syllables. 
I  was  pleased  when  Miss  Lossie  said  neither  she  nor  the  other 
Joey  had  been  in  the  Thames  Tunnel,  as  my  acquaintance  with 
a  boy  who  had  been  there  clearly  improved  my  social  status. 
The  introduction  of  the  Thames  Tunnel,  however,  proved  a  dis- 
turbing element,  for  Master  Joey  demanded  to  be  taken  there  at 
once.  He  made  a  grievance  of  this  demand  not  being  com- 
plied with;  and  was  only  pacified  by  a  concession,  which,  as  it 
turned  out,  was  one  which  had  a  great  influence  on  my  own 
future.  For  the  sop  thrown  to  Master  Joseph  was  that  he  should 
be  permitted  to  go  up  into  his  Father's  library,  and  play  at  his 
Father's  foot-warmer  being  a  boat  under  the  table.  He  stipulated 
also  that  the  Boy  should  take  him  up,  and  no  one  else. 

He  carried  all  his  points,  triumphantly  directing  me  to  the 
door  of  his  Father's  library;  bursting  it  open  with — "I  with  to 
play  at  a  Man  in  a  Boat  under  the  table,  and  I  witheth  to  have 
the  paper-knife  to  row  wiv'.  And  the  Boy  is  to  wait." 

"And  that's  the  Boy!"  said  Dr.  Thorpe.  "Is  your  Father 
here,  my  Boy  ?  Oh  no,  he  wasn't  to  come  yet,  I  remember.  Let's 
have  a  look  at  you!  If  I  am  to  be  disturbed  by  young  Monkeys, 
I  may  as  well  be  disturbed  outright.  Can  you  read,  old  chap  ? " 

Me. — "Yes,  Sir,  please!  At  least,  I  can  read  the  Bible  and 
'Kobinson  Crusoe'  rather  slowly,  and  Mr.  Capstick's  Tracks  very 

slow  indeed  because  of "  I  was  hesitating  to  find  a  word  that 

would  describe  Jer.  xv.  116  or  Kev.  Ix.  12,  when  the  Doctor  re- 
marked that  he  had  got  a  book  there,  and  if  I  was  to  sit  on  his 
knee  he  would  see  which  could  read  it  through  the  fastest.  So  I 
sat  on  his  knee.  And  the  book  was  Euclid,  and  the  Doctor  nearly 
put  it  by,  because  the  only  legible  bits  without  A's  and  B's  were 
in  writing-hand.  But  I  stopped  him  because,  I  said,  there  was 
lots  like  it  in  Mr.  Capstick's  Tracks  (which,  indeed,  was  the  case 
— as  the  author,  in  order  to  drive  home  his  damnation  to  the 
sinner,  resorted  to  all  sorts  of  printer's  fonts) ;  and  I  actually 
read  the  words  "equilateral"  and  "equiangular" — slowly,  cer- 
tainly, but  without  assistance.  Then  I  was  seized  with  the  thirst 


JOSEPH  VANCE  67 

of  knowledge  and  wanted  to  know  what  they  meant.  The  col- 
loquy that  follows  is  very  nearly  if  not  quite  correct. 

Dr.  T. — "Equilateral  is  when  all  those  three  are  the  same" 
(pointing  to  the  sides).  "And  equiangular  is  when  all  those 
three  are  the  same"  (putting  a  line  across  each  angle). 

Me. — "I  see.  When  they're  all  o'  one  sharpness.  Then  when 
it's  E-qui-lateral  it's  E-qui-angular " 

He. — "  How  do  you  know  that  ? " 

Me. — "Why,  of  course!  Because  if  it  wasn't  E-qui-angular 
it  wouldn't  be  E-qui-lateral.  There  would  be  a  right  side  up. 
And  there  ain't  any  right  side  up,  because  it's  the  same  all 
round " 

He. — "Let's  try  and  draw  one  for  ourselves.  How  shall  we  do 
it  now?" 

Me. — "  I  could  drore  it  on  the  ground  beautiful  with  my  pegtop 
string.  If  me  and  Gummy " 

He.— "Who's  he?    However,  never  mind!" 

Me. — "If  me  and  Gummy  was  to  toyk  our  two  strings  of  a 
length,  and  dror'  two  rings  just  that  length  apart,  no  more  nor  no 
less,  and  then  jine  up  the  middles  with  the  crossin'  of  the  rings — 
why,  of  course  there  we  should  be ! " 

He. — "I  wonder  if  Euclid  went  on  in  this  way  when  he  was  a 
little  boy." 

Me. — "  Here  it  is  drored!  "  (pouncing  on  the  First  Proposition). 
"  But  what  have  they  wrote  letters  at  the  corners  for  ? " 

Miss  Lossie  (coming  in). — "To  puzzle  little  boys!  You  don't 
want  'em,  Joey  Vance,  do  you  ? " 

Me  (thoughtfully). — "  Of  course  me  and  Gummy  could  put  the 
letters  on  afterwards,  if  they  was  wanted?  His  Father  done  my 
Father's  signboard."  I  mentioned  this  to  show  that  professional 
assistance  would  be  forthcoming. 

Dr.  T. — "That  would  be  the  very  thing!  You  don't  mean 
that  it's  lunch  already,  Lossie?  Your  little  friend  and  I  were 
so  interested  we  never  heard  the  bell " 

L. — "  Yes,  and  we  shall  catch  it  again  from  Aunty.  Where's 
that  child  ?  He's  so  quiet  he  must  be  in  mischief " 

He  was.  He  was  unpicking  the  seam  in  the  side  of  the  boat 
with  the  paper-knife. 

If  I  were  obliged  to  state  on  oath  how  much  of  the  foregoing  is 
absolutely  and  literally  true,  I  am  afraid  I  should  have  to  reply 
very  little  indeed.  For  remember,  it  is  fifty  years  ago!  But  the 
whole  of  the  remainder  is  so  very  nearly  true.  It  is  the  fact,  no 


68  JOSEPH   VANCE 

doubt,  that  I  have  to  decipher  a  palimpsest;  but  then  I  wrote  the 
original  myself,  or  was  myself  the  parchment.  Choose  whichever 
metaphor  fits  best. 

Suppose  now  I  confine  myself  for  a  while  to  rigid  recollection 
only,  and  tell  the  exact  truth.  Let  Poplar  Villa  in  detail  vanish 
into  the  past,  with  Master  Joey  resisting  execution  in  respect  of 
the  paper-knife;  myself  receiving  instruction  from  Miss  Lossie  as 
to  what  dinner  I  should  requisition  from  Anne ;  the  Doctor  hurry- 
ing off  to  ablutions,  and  a  background  of  a  second  luncheon-bell 
and  the  voice  of  Aunt  Isa,  which  could  scarcely  have  thrilled  with 
greater  tragedy  had  the  second  luncheon-bell  been  the  tocsin,  and 
the  family  summoned  to  battle  with  fire  and  flood. 

I  absolutely  remember  Miss  Lossie  kissing  me  to  say  good-bye 
at  the  gate,  and  her  sister  taking  some  exception  thereto.  I  could 
fill  out  this  recollection  by  saying  that  her  words  were  "If  you 
can  kiss  anything  so  dinnery,"  but  I  am  not  sure  enough  of  them. 

I  can  remember,  but  dimly,  coming  back  along  the  dusty  main 
road.  Then  being  at  home  with  my  Mother,  and  crying  in  my 
sleeve  in  a  corner  because  Miss  Lossie  was  going  away,  and  six 
weeks  seemed  too  long  to  bear. 

I  can  remember  that  Henderson's  in  the  Orpington  Road  came 
and  complained  bitterly  that  my  Father,  just  to  save  a  few  shil- 
lins  should  'and  over  a  job  to  Packles's  Niece's  husband — and 
him  known  Mr.  Vance  in  the  Buildin'  trade  all  these  years !  This, 
I  take  it,  was  another  tribute  to  the  Board.  Really  if  it  had 
been  a  Board  with  Minutes  and  Deputations  it  could  not  have 
been  more  influential. 

I  can  remember  my  Father  saying  to  my  Mother  that  she  was 
to  go  over  to  Dr.  Thorpe  at  the  Wilier  to  talk  about  the  young 
Nipper.  "That  '11  suit  your  Book,  hay,  Joey?"  And  I  thought 
he  was  referring  to  the  first  Book  of  Euclid. 

I  can  remember  sitting  on  the  gate-posts  looking  along  the 
road  to  see  my  Mother  come  back,  and  the  taste  of  the  brazil  nuts 
I  was  eating  at  the  time.  And  I  remember  the  joyous  hug  that 
implied  that  something  delightful  had  happened.  And  that  the 
something  turned  out  to  be  that  Dr.  T.  was  going  to  send  me  to 
a  proper  school  at  his  own  expense.  And  that  there  (so  a  message 
to  myself  ran)  I  should  learn  all  about  the  nearest  approach  to 
Equilateral  and  Equiangular  triangles  that  my  Mother's  powers 
of  pronunciation  could  compass. 

I  can  remember,  very  dimly  indeed,  that  Mr.  Capstick  endeav- 
oured to  intervene  on  behalf  of  a  miserable  little  institution  that 
he  called  his  Schools.  But  he  had  scarcely  succeeded  in  procuring 


JOSEPH  VANCE  69 

my  attendance  as  »  pupil  in  previous  times,  and  now  he  was  no- 
where. 

Before  I  absolutely  quit  this  period  of  my  life  I  will  give  a 
filled-out  recollection  of  another  of  Porky  Owls's  gossiping  re- 
ports. It  related  to  Peter  Gunn,  the  Sweep,  and  told  how  he  had 
fallen  a  victim  to  Nemesis. 

"I  seen  that  sportin'  character  agin  wot  I  told  you  seen  your 
dad  fight  Mr.  Gunn.  Kec'lect?  Well,  I  heared  him  talking  to 
a  Hom'libus.  So  I  stops  and  listens.  And  he  says  'Pore  Gunn,' 
he  says,  '  pore  Peter ! '  And  he  makes  b'lieve  he  was  a-cryin' ! 
Then  I  gets  a  little  nearer.  And  the  Driver  he  says,  '  I  thought 
he  was  a-winnin'  all  his  stakes,  Mr.  Jerry,'  he  says — 'puttin'  by 
money,  I  thought  he  was.' — '  Shore-ly,'  says  Mr.  Jerry,  l  till  he 
come  acrost  this  here  Moses  Wardle.  You  know  him? '  And  the 
Hom'libus  knowed  him.  *  Him  they  call  the  'Anley  Linnet  ? '  says 
the  Hom'libus. — 'That's  your  man,'  says  Mr.  Jerry.  'And  he  says 
Peter  may  butt  to  his  'art's  content — he  don't  care!  And  the 
arrangement  was  for  fifty  pound  a  side,  and  relaxation  Rules  in 
respect  of  buttin'.  "  He  may  do  his  worst  by  me,"  says  the  Lin- 
net. Now,'  says  Mr.  Jerry,  'you'll  understand  me  easy  enough. 
If  I  ketches  this  boy  on  one  side  of  his  'ead,  his  'ead  '11  give,  and 
may  be  no  great  'arm  done !  If  I  ketches  him  both  sides  at  once, 
like  this  ('Don't  you  be  frightened,'  says  he,  '/  ain't  a-goin'  to 
hurt  you'),  what  becomes  of  this  here  boy?  Sends  for  the  under- 
taker, he  does ! '  and  he  give  me  a  penny  for  standing  still. 
1  Well,'  says  the  Hom'libus,  '  and  when  the  men  shook  hands, 
what  happened  ? '  '  Why,  in  coorse/  says  Mr.  Jerry,  '  Gunn  goes 
straight  for  his  man's  stummick  as  usual,  and  just  as  he  reaches 
him  round  comes  the  Linnet's  knuckles  behind  his  ears  simul- 
taneous. He'd  been  trainin'  for  it,  and  it  was  just  like  a  nut- 
cracker made  of  two  sludge  hammers.  Of  course  he  goes  down 
on  his  back  and  'as  a  little  peace  and  quiet  till  they  calls  Time, 
and  then  he  does  the  same  thing  again.  Gunn's  backers  was 
gettin'  oneasy.' — '  How  often  did  Gunn  come  up  ? '  says  the  Hom'li- 
bus. 'Maybe  three  time,  or  maybe  four!'  says  Mr.  Jerry.  'Then 
they  carried  him  off  the  ground,  and  Moses  he  pockets  his  money, 
and  goes  home  to  his  farmley.'  And  then  the  Driver  he  'oilers, 
'Bring  me  out  that  ?arf-a-pint,  James,'  and  when  he  takes  it  he 
says  to  James,  '  Ain't  it,  James  ? '  and  James  he  says  '  Ain't  it 
what?'  'Sickenin'  to  see  you,'  says  the  Driver,  pleasantry-like. 
And  he  'ands  him  back  the  pewter,  and  says  good-morning  to 
Mr.  Jerry  and  drives  off.  'Cos  the  Fares  they  was  getting  im- 
patient." 


CHAPTER  X 

ABOUT  JOE  NOW,  AS  HE  WRITES.      AND  ABOUT  SOME  OLD,  OLD  LETTERS 
OF  LOSSIE'S.      SOME  MORALIZING  YOU  MAY  SKIP.      HOW  LOSSIE  WENT 

TO  THE  SEASIDE.    PORKY  OWLS's  OBSCURANTISM — SOMEWHAT  OP 
MISS  VIOLET'S  GRANDES  PASSIONS. 

I  WHO  write  this  am  an  old,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  oldish  man 
whom  you  have  possibly  seen  at  the  British  Museum  Reading 
Room.  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea  whom  I  am  addressing. 
Until  you  are  in  a  position  to  vouch  for  your  own  existence,  you 
must  continue  a  mere  hypothesis;  perhaps  not  more  so  than  most 
of  the  readers  of  many  of  the  books  I  can  obtain  with  my  magic 
ticket.  But  you  are  possible,  though  not  probable;  and  I  shall 
avail  myself  of  my  irresponsible  omnipotence  to  deem  you  actual, 
as  it  suits  my  convenience  to  do  so. 

Well,  then — supposing  that  (in  addition  to  entity  without 
qualities)  you  are  a  frequenter  of  the  Reading  Room,  you  may 
have  been  told  by  an  informant  that  I  was  an  old  cock,  codger, 
card,  or  party,  who  had  lived  a  good  deal  in  South  America,  who 
was  an  ingenious  Inventor  and  not  unknown  in  that  capacity  in 
England  twenty  years  since.  He  will  probably  have  added  that  I 
was  a  secretive  old  bird,  or  a  shy  character,  who  kept  myself  to 
myself  a  good  deal,  and  even  that  there  was  no  getting  much 
change  out  of  me.  If  you  have  never  been  in  the  Reading  Room, 
this  sketch  of  what  you  might  have  heard  there  will  classify  me, 
and  enable  you  to  form  a  still  further  image  of  me  as  I  sit  here 
writing  this  in  my  chambers  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Guilford 
Street. 

When  I  took  possession  two  years  since,  the  landlady  assured 
me  that  they  were  commodious  and  airy.  I  might  have  discussed 
the  point,  but  she  had  added  that  she  had  buried  two  husbands 
there ;  and  that  appeared  conclusive  at  the  moment,  though  further 
experience  has  weakened  my  faith.  The  rooms  are  airy  enough 
certainly  when  all  the  windows  are  open,  and  I  can  keep  them 
open  if  I  choose.  But  as  for  commodiousness,  I  never  have  more 
than  one  guest  at  a  time ;  so  no  strain  is  put  upon  their  resources. 
I  have  some  furniture  of  my  own  in  a  pantechnicon,  and  on  my 

70 


JOSEPH  VANCE  71 

return  from  Brazil  could  have  furnished  a  place  for  myself. 
But  I  found  it  easier  to  come  here,  as  I  wanted  to  resort  to  the 
Museum,  and  did  not  want  encumbrances.  In  fact,  I  did  not  like 
being  bothered;  and  thought  furnished  apartments  the  easiest  to 
run  away  from  if  any  one  came  after  me  whom  I  wished  to  avoid. 
In  case  this  way  of  putting  it  should  cause  uneasiness,  let  me 
add  that  I  am  not  a  criminal.  Neither  had  poverty  any  influence 
in  my  choice  of  a  residence.  It  was  merely  that  I  wanted  quiet 
for  myself,  leisure  for  writing,  and  had  no  motive  or  desire  for 
renewing  intercourse  with  the  few  survivors  of  those  whom  I  had 
known  in  my  youth  in  England.  There  were  still  one  or  two  living 
whom  I  definitely  wished  to  shun,  for  reasons  which  will  appear  in 
•my  story.  I  fancy  these  believe  me  still  in  South  America.  But 
the  absorbing  power  of  twenty  years  is  marvellous,  and  if  I  met 
them  now  I  doubt  if  any  of  them  would  care  to  re-animate  a 
fossil  friendship.  Bygones  would  not  stand  in  the  way,  for  they 
are  fossils  too!  But  it  would  be  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
unless 

However,  I  won't  fill  out  that  sentence  just  yet.  I'll  see  about 
it  at  the  end  of  my  narrative,  or  leave  it  to  fill  itself  out. 

For  the  present  I  wish  you  to  keep  my  image  in  your  mind  as 
that  of  a  man  of  sixty  (say  in  round  figures)  engaged  in  histori- 
cal research,  chiefly  connected  with  Engineering.  I  have  no  ob- 
jection to  telling  you,  if  you  like,  the  name  of  a  work  I  hare  in 
hand.  It  is  The  Relation  of  Mechanics  to  Music  with  especial 
reference  to  their  place  in  History.  It  will  probably  never  be 
read,  any  more  than  this  Memoir;  but  I  write  it  for  the  same 
reason;  namely  that  I  have  begun  it,  and  having  begun  it  wish 
to  finish  it.  Why  I  began  it  I  do  not  know,  but  I  know  why  I 
began  the  Memoir.  It  was  as  an  experiment  to  see  how  much  I 
could  really  recollect  if  I  once  began  to  try,  and  then  I  got  led 
on.  It  has  become  a  sort  of  trial  of  strength  with  me  now,  and 
the  more  I  come  to  memories  I  shirk,  the  more  I  nerve  myself  to 
the  efforts  to  record  them. 

The  very  first  thing  that  set  me  on  the  track  of  my  early  boy- 
hood was  the  reading  of  some  old  letters  of  Lucilla  Thorpe's  writ- 
ten half-a-century  ago — yes!  half-a-century  ago— to  a  great  friend 
of  her  girlhood,  Sarita  Spencer.  This  friend  married  and  went 
to  live  in  Ceylon,  where  she  died,  many  years  back.  The  course 
of  events  by  which  they  came  into  my  possession  will  develop  in 
the  story.  I  found  them  two  years  ago  with  many  others  in  a 
box  which  I  disinterred  at  the  Pantechnicon  when  I  returned  from 
Brazil.  I  opened  the  first  packet,  and  glanced  at  one  of  them, 


72  JOSEPH   VANCE 

then  replaced  it  from  sheer  cowardice.  But  it  started  recolleo- 
tions  in  my  mind  which  led  to  my  writing  as  much  of  my  narra- 
tive as  I  could  without  difficulty  recall,  and  I  now  go  back  to  the 
letters  (painful  as  it  may  be  to  read  them)  as  a  means  of  helping 
me  forward  to  still  further  recollections. 

It  is  strange  to  think  that  the  old  letter  that  I  have  again 
released  from  the  soiled  wrapper  that  contained  it  for  so  many 
years,  was  actually  written  in  that  very  same  Poplar  Villa.  But 
it  was,  and  the  almost  invisible  pencil  writing  on  the  wrapper 
is  Lossie  Thorpe,  1849-60.  Of  course  now  and  again  letters  are 
kept  (and  kept  clean,  as  these  are  now  the  wrapper  is  off)  for 
half -a-century ;  and  they  must  have  been  written  somewhere, — so 
why  not  this  one  at  Poplar  Villa,  on  a  warm  June  evening  under 
the  very  pear  tree  whose  fruit  I  helped  to  pick  in  September? 
Why  does  it  seem  to  me  so  very  strange  that  that  paper  was 
held  and  written  on  by  that  very  Lossie,  that  that  brown  ink-blot 
is  the  very  same  black  ink-blot  she  complains  of  in  connection 
with  Joey,  and  that  the  rest  of  that  blot  had  to  be  washed  off  the 
hand  that  I  so  well  remember  the  hair  bracelet  on? 

My  own  particular  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrows  has  always  (as 
I  said)  been  the  telling  of  bad  news.  So  the  remembrance  of 
happier  things  has  to  go  second.  But  it  doesn't  make  it  much 
better  that  there  happens  to  be  something  still  worse. 

I  almost  wish  I  could,  having  set  myself  the  task,  just  write  my 
own  story  straight  through  from  memory,  helped  by  probability. 
When  one  has  made  the  plunge  into  the  sea  of  one's  own  past, 
one  can  swim  about  happily  enough  till  one  has  to  cut  one's  feet 
returning  to  shore !  The  sleeper  in  Newgate,  who  has  to  be  called 
early  to  go  and  be  hanged,  would  dream  he  was  birds'-nesting  or 
playing  at  marbles  in  perfect  comfort  if  you  would  only  let  him 
alone.  And  these  schoolgirl  letters  won't  let  me  keep  the  dream 
real.  They  remind  me  with  a  continuous  refrain,  that  what  was 
Now  then,  is  Then  now,  and  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  forget  it. 
But  I  cannot  manage  so  well  without  them,  so  I  must  have  my 
tooth  out  over  it.  What  draws  my  tooth  is  the  actual  paper,  the 
same  that  that  hand  touched;  the  actual  blot,  whose  unpreserved 
half  was  washed  off  fifty  years  ago ;  the  very  folds  the  inky  fingers 
pressed.  I  can  live  through  the  past  again  in  peace  when  once  I 
am  well  started,  but  I  flinch  from  these  connecting  links  of  tan- 
gible reality. 

However,  it  has  to  be  done,  so  here  goes!  You  know  what  it 
feels  like,  when  your  dentist  clips  your  tooth-root  round  with 
those  beautiful  shiny  pincers? 


JOSEPH  VANCE  73 

LOSSIE  THORPE  TO  MISS  SAEITA  SPENCER. 

"POPLAR  VILLA,  June  16,  1850. 

"  MY  DEAREST  SARRY  :  It's  such  a  lovely  afternoon  I  must  write 
you  a  long  letter.  Vicey  and  Aunty  will  have  to  change  the  books 
at  Mudie's,  that  is,  if  Aunty  will  only  go  and  get  ready  and  leave 
those  drains  alone.  There  won't  be  a  drop  of  water  left  in  the 
cistern. 

"Do  you  know,  I  am  convinced  you  are  right  about  Miss 
Dunckelmann.  She  came  to  England  to  learn  English,  and  never 
taught  us  a  word  of  either  German  or  French.  This  new  one  is 
said  to  know  lots — but  she  seems  a  perfect  martyr  to  Neuralgia. 
I  do  not  know  what  earthly  use  it  is  ~being  able  to  teach  French 
and  German  and  Latin  and  Mathematics  if  you  can't  do  it.  I'm 
very  sorry  for  her,  of  course;  but  if  I  were  to  undertake  to  teach 
you  Chinese  and  then  only  have  Neuralgia  what  would  you  say? 
I  don't  mean,  dear,  that  you  would  find  fault.  I'm  sure  you 
would  put  up  with  anything.  But  it  would  be  exasperating, 
wouldn't  it?  For  my  part  I  can't  see  the  least  why  girls  shouldn't 
have  caps  and  gowns  and  be  real  students.  What  was  Papa  to  do 
with  us  girls,  I  should  like  to  know?  You  know  Mamma  had  a 
horror  of  Boarding  Schools  for  girls,  and  so  Papa  didn't  like  to  so 
soon  after,  or  even  Miss  Namby's  where  you  went  would  have  been 
better  than  growing  up  a  weed,  and  not  knowing  French  and  Ger- 
man. As  for  poor  Aunt  Izzy,  you  know  what  she  is.  I'm  sure  you 
never  lived  in  this  house  the  inside  of  a  month  without  finding 
that  out. 

"  You  know,  dear,  I  so  often  think  if  Mamma  had  lived  it  would 
have  been  different,  because  a  Mother  is  quite  another  thing  to  an 
Aunt,  however  high  her  standard.  Of  course  I  feel  that  I  am  a 
most  ungrateful  girl  to  poor  Aunty,  who  I  know  is  goodness  itself, 
and  the  sacrifices  she  makes — of  course,  too,  I  know  I  never  was 
grateful  to  darling  Mamma — but  then  I  didn't  have  to  be,  and 
that  just  makes  all  the  difference.  I  know  it's  because  one  is  bad — 
but  the  minute  one  has  to  be  grateful  one  isn't.  Only  when  it 
was  Mamma  one  never  thought  about  it  being  grateful,  one  rushed 
off  straight  to  her  to  cry  when  one  wanted  to  cry,  or  to  make  her 
laugh  too  when  it  was  anything  nice.  I  recollect  when  I  was  ten, 
and  Uncle  Creswick  brought  us  all  birthday  presents  instead  of 
only  me,  how  we  could  hardly  stop  to  thank  Uncle,  and  all  rushed 
off  like  maniacs  up  to  Mamma's  room,  and  Papa  came  out  and 
said  not  quite  such  a  noise,  and  we  could  hardly  stop  to  show  even 
him.  And  it  was  always  Mamma  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and 


74  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Mamma  last  thing  at  night.  And  then  you  know  how  we  all  went 
to  stay  at  Grandmamma's.  And  then  one  day  Papa  drove  up  when 
we  were  at  breakfast.  And  Grandma  got  up  and  went  out  and 
pulled  to  the  door,  but  I  heard  her  say  <  Well? '  And  he  said  this 
morning  at  three.  And  then  I  heard  him  say  I  can  tell  them, 
Mother,  I  shall  not  break  down.  And  then  I  ran  out.  And  you 
know,  dear,  what  it  was  like  because  I  told  you.  And  then  when 
Papa  fetched  us  all  back  a  week  after,  it  wasn't  Mamma  but  Aunt 
Izzy  at  the  door.  And  we  all  walked  about  on  tiptoe  and  whis- 
pered. And  then  Joey  began,  only  he  was  dreadfully  red  and  made 
frightful  grimaces. 

"  I  know  Fve  told  you  all  this  before,  dear,  lots  of  times.  But 
I  can't  help  going  on  if  I  begin;  and  it's  good  for  me  because  now 
if  I  get  lying  awake  to-night,  I  shan't  go  over  it  half  so  much  if 
I  know  it's  in  this  letter  in  the  Post.  You  know  one  does  go  over 
and  over  it  so,  and  things  always  will  happen  to  bring  it  back. 
There's  that  little  Ducky  who  knows  nothing  of  his  Mother  except 
that  she  is  buried  at  Colchester  and  that's  all  the  Geography  he 
knows  too.  And  to-day  when  Papa  and  Professor  Absalom  were 
talking  about  Ethics  he  cut  in  and  interrupted  the  conversation  to 
state  that  Ethics  was  in  Colchester — by  which  he  meant  that  Col- 
chester was  in  Essex.  Poor  darling  Pa  couldn't  laugh  as  Professor 
Absalom  did — and  I  don't  wonder. 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  great  splodge  of  ink  is  ?  That's  Joey, 
of  course.  He  wants  to  write  too,  and  then  he  climbs  up  on  me  and 
gets  at  the  ink  over  my  shoulder.  It  doesn't  matter  on  this  letter, 
because  it  came  on  the  clean  paper,  and  I  can  write  round  it.  But 
it's  gone  on  my  hair-bracelet  that  was  Mamma's,  and  I  don't  know 
if  it  will  come  off.  Joey  has  offered  to  suck  it  off,  but  I  don't  think 
ink  is  good  for  him. 

"  What  do  you  think  Vicey  and  her  friend  Alice  Pratt  have  done  ? 
Of  course  I  oughtn't  to  tell  because  I  promised  not.  But  I  shall — 
because  Vicey  solemnly  promised  not  to  say  a  word  about  what  I 
told  her  Jane  Pennell  said  about  what  Sarah  Sant  said  about  her 
Uncle's  property  in  Worcestershire.  And  then  went  straight  away 
and  told  Alice  Pratt.  So  I  don't  hold  myself  the  least  bound — and 
I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  tell  you  (it's  secret,  mind)  that  she  and 
Alice  Pratt  have  promised  on  honour  that  if  any  gentleman  ever 
proposes  to  them  they  will  tell  each  other  exactly  what  he  says. 
Isn't  it  silly?  Besides,  no  gentleman  ever  will  propose  to  Alice 
Pratt,  with  that  nose.  If  you  and  me  were  to  do  so,  there  might  be 
some  sense  in  it,  because  you  have  a  reasonable  nose,  dear. 

"  Now  I  mustn't  write  any  more  nonsense.     I'm  sure  nobody  to 


JOSEPH  VANCE  75 

read  this  would  ever  imagine  I  was  an  almost  nearly  grown-up  girl. 
So  with  eveo-  so  much  love,  as  Joey  says,  I  remain, 
"  Yours  affectionately, 

"LossiE  THORPE." 

Would  anybody,  I  wonder?  When  I  read  this  through  first,  I 
answered  that  nobody  would.  The  second  time  I  decided  that 
probably  most  people  would  say  it  was  a  very  fair  all-round  letter 
for  a  girl  of  that  age,  at  that  date,  without  graduates  for  gov- 
ernesses, or  Newnham  and  Girton  on  the  horizon.  The  disappoint- 
ment I  felt  at  first  was  because  I  expected  a  renewal  or  repetition 
of  the  impression  I  had  received  from  the  writer  half-a-century 
back.  You  see,  at  that  time  I  was  only  a  little  ragamuffin  eight 
years  old,  very  little  better  off  in  his  surroundings  than  the  two 
scapegoats  of  my  bottle-throwing  exploit.  I  wonder,  if  I  could  in 
the  form  of  my  now  Self  walk  in  at  the  swing-gate  again  at  Poplar 
Villa  (I  should  be  able  to  look  over  it  instead  of  through  the  third 
bar  up)  and  find  the  then  Dr.  Thorpe  and  his  family  at  home, 
should  I  come  away  unimpressed,  and  say  those  girls  of  the  Doc- 
tor's seemed  rather  nice,  but  how  dreadfully  they  spoil  that 
child? 

The  suggestion  grates  on  me  and  I  prefer  to  think  that  the 
written  record  is  wrong  and  Memory  is  right.  Anyhow,  the  latter 
is  now  part  of  Me,  and  may  as  well  go  on  to  the  end.  Because 
the  end  will  come,  and  then  there  may  be  no  more  M e,  or  at  least 
no  more  visible  and  audible  evidence  of  my  existence  to  my  fel- 
low-men. 

I  cannot  understand  either  the  frame  of  mind  that  shrinks 
from  extinction,  nor  that  which  professes  to  anticipate  and  be- 
lieve in  it.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  after  all  the  Egyptians 
were  right,  and  the  death  of  a  man  were  the  birth  of  a  soul.  But 
(like  my  namesake,  Joey)  I  wants  to  know;  and  supposing  this 
to  be  the  case,  are  we  always  to  live  on  under  a  burden  of  old  griefs 
constantly  accumulating  at  compound  interest,  for  ever?  Or  will 
a  time  come  when  the  onrush  of  some  inconceivable  Dawn  will 
brush  aside  the  cobwebs  of  the  unsatisfactory  past — even  the 
pleasures  Memory  has  turned  into  pain — and  put  the  shocking 
old  house  in  order  for  an  interminable  day? 

Really  if  there  be  no  such  prospect,  would  it  not  be  better  to 
be  that  entirely  self-satisfied  thing,  a  Non-Entity?  Or  failing  the 
possibilities  of  non-existing,  to  go  through  a  subterranean  phase, 
at  Kensal  Green  or  Woking,  and  only  be  restored  to  consciousness 
(and  the  recovery  of  a  good  deal  of  dispersed  nitrogen  and  ear- 


76  JOSEPH  VANCE 

bon)  within  twenty-four  hours  of  a  settlement  guaranteed  com- 
plete and  final? 

I  believe  the  last  idea  was  nearly  the  excellent  Mr.  Capstick's 
— or,  at  least,  it  formed  the  Matrix  of  a  complicated  Mixture,  in 
which  the  departed  who  had  "fallen  asleep  in  Jesus"  were  de- 
voured by  worms  under  the  sod  while  reposing  in  Peace  there  and 
looking  forward  to  a  joyful  Resurrection;  all  which  did  not  inter- 
fere with  their  joining  in  the  Choir  of  the  Blessed  and  even 
infesting  Abraham's  Bosom.  Poor  Mr.  Capstick!  Perhaps  the 
multitude  of  Solutions  which  he  poured  into  this  Mixture  were  like 
the  dozen  or  so  of  remedies  your  doctor  gives  you  in  one  table- 
spoonful,  in  a  glass  of  water,  every  four  hours,  one  or  other  of 
which  you  feel  pretty  sure  must  do  you  good.  I  really  think  the 
Mixture  did  my  Mother  good.  As  to  my  Father,  he  merely  said 
(adopting,  but  spoiling  the  medical  metaphor),  "  Capstickses  pills 
goes  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other." 

Sarita  Spencer  must  have  been  staying  at  Poplar  Villa  very 
shortly  before  I  went  there,  as  the  letter  which  follows,  written 
just  before  the  family's  departure  for  Herne  Bay,  treats  the  visit 
as  a  recent  one.  There  are  one  or  two  intermediate  letters,  speak- 
ing of  her  coming  visit  in  July.  But  of  course  this  is  the  first 
that  has  the  strong  interest  of  an  allusion  to  myself.  After 
referring  to  some  unimportant  incidents  of  the  visit,  the  letter 
continues  thus : 

"  We  should  have  been  very  dull,  dear,  after  you  went  only  there 
was  all  the  excitement  of  the  hunt  for  your  ring  and  the  Police 
came  about  it,  and  had  refreshments  in  the  kitchen  and  suspected 
the  servants,  and  after  all  there  it  was  in  the  toothbrushes  all  the 
time !  Then  Aunt  Izzy  got  her  way  about  the  drains  and  they've 
all  got  to  be  done  while  we're  away.  And  the  man  that  came  about 
the  Drains  brought  such  a  nice  little  Boy  with  him,  who  is  eight  but 
might  have  been  seven,  he  is  so  small  and  compact.  I  must  tell 
you  about  him  because  Pa  is  going  to  send  him  to  school  where 
Nolly  is.  Not  but  what  I  hate  Mr.  Penguin  and  think  him  a 
ridiculous  old  prig.  I  don't  want  to  be  apologized  about  even 
by  Papa  and  called  a  young  Puss  to  any  Mr.  Penguins. 

"  I  took  the  Boy  in  the  garden  and  made  him  pick  pears.  And 
he's  been  here  to-day  and  made  us  all  laugh  so  with  his  funny  accent. 
Only  Vicey  went  into  a  Rage  about  me  and  him.  And  then  after- 
wards when  we  were  all  at  dinner  she  wanted  Papa  to  tell  me  not 
to  go  on  like  that.  And  Papa  said,  '  You're  not  to  go  on  like  that, 


JOSEPH  VANCE  77 

Lossie  dear.  Give  me  a  baked  potato  with  your  fingers,  dear,  but 
on  no  account  go  on  like  that,  and  then  Vi  will  tell  us  what  you 
are  not  to  go  on  like.'  And  then  Vicey  said,  '  Why,  in  that  irre- 
ligious way  with  dreadful  Boys  out  of  the  street — talking  about 
Eternity  and  the  Lord ! '  And  Pa  said  it  was  very  sad,  and  how 
came  I  to  talk  of  such  irreligious  things  as  Eternity  and  the  Lord  to 
dreadful  Boys  out  of  the  street?  And  Vicey  said  well  I  knew  he 
said  plunged-into-Eternity  and  the  Minister-of-the-Lord — some 
horrid  Dissenting  parson  he'd  got — and  for  her  part  she  didn't 
think  it  was  a  thing  to  joke  about.  And  another  time,  she  said, 
she  wouldn't  sit  there.  And  then  Aunty  murmured  submissively 
from  her  end  of  the  table,  '  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  perhaps  Violet 
may  not  be  right,  dear  Kandall.'  And  Pa  said  Oh  there  was  no 
doubt  about  it,  and  quite  took  Aunty  in  and  she  said  she  was  glad 
he  thought  so.  And  then  he  said,  'Now  mind,  Lossie,  never  you 
say  plunged-into-Eternity  or  the  Minister-of-the-Lord  to  dreadful 
Boys  out  of  the  street  or  your  sister  won't  sit  there.'  And  then 
Vicey  got  up  in  tears  and  said  she  didn't  want  any  more  dinner 
and  would  go.  And  I  had  to  run  after  her  and  fetch  her  back 
and  tell  her  it  was  a  Roly-poly  Pudding. 

"  But  that's  not  really  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about,  but  how 
Pa  had  the  Boy  up  into  his  room  and  I  found  him  sitting  on  dear 
Pa's  knee  doing  Euclid.  And  when  Vicey  came  back  Pa  tried  to 
make  peace  by  telling  us  all  about  it.  But  Aunty  and  Vicey 
wouldn't  show  any  interest  and  were  chilly  and  meek.  So  Pa  said 
never  mind  Lossie  he'd  show  me.  And  I  can  do  Euclid  myself,  so 
I  could  understand.  Joey  Vance  (that's  the  Boy's  Name)  said 
he  and  a  friend  could  make  a  triangle  with  all  the  sides  the  same 
and  all  the  corners  the  same  sharpness  so  that  there  should  be  no 
right  side  up,  if  they  took  their  two  peg-top  strings  the  same 
length  and  made  two  circles  a  string  apart.  It  was  something  Pa 
said  in  the  way  he  put  it  that  made  him  think  the  Boy  should  be 
properly  educated.  Penguin  would  do  to  begin  with  till  he  could 
see  his  way. 

"  Papa  says  too  he  thinks  the  Boy's  Father  must  be  a  very  clever 
Builder  as  he  knew  there  was  no  drain  under  the  front  garden,  and 
Pa  thought  there  was.  He  said  he  must  have  been  some  time  in 
business  as  he  had  seen  his  name  up  so  often  at  his  place  along 
our  road.  And  Vicey  said  if  he  had  plenty  to  do  why  doesn't  he 
dress  and  educate  his  son  better?  And  Pa  said  he  didn't  say  he 
had  plenty  to  do.  And  Vicey  said  why  hadn't  he,  then — he  ought 
to!  And  Pa  said  probably  a  Man  without  Capital.  The  Boy's 
mother  is  to  come  and  see  Pa  about  it  when  he  has  seen  us  safe  to 


78  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Herne  Bay  and  come  back  by  the  Monday  Boat.  We  are  all  busy 
now  packing  and  Aunty  and  Vicey  are  making  a  great  fuss  and 
won't  allow  anything  to  go  at  the  bottom  of  any  box  or  it  will  be 
crushed.  And  as  I  finish  this  letter  in  a  hurry  I  can  hear  a  shindy 
going  on  between  Aunty  and  the  laundress  about  The  Wash  being 
back  in  time.  And  of  course  it  won't,  because  it  never  is  even 
if  that  unintelligible  old  Mrs.  Packles  promises  ever  so.  And  it 
will  have  to  be  sent  down  separate  after  and  Vicey  will  have  a 
•bad  cold  first  thing  and  borrow  all  my  pocket-handkerchieves. 
Joey  wants  to  send  you  four  kisses  which  he  wishes  to  draw  him- 
self, but  really  I  can't  let  him  even  if  he  howls  because  I  must 
hurry  away  to  pack.  Good-bye,  dear, 

"  YOUR  AFFECT.  LOSSIE. 

"  P.  S. — I  have  compromised  with  Joey.  He  is  to  be  allowed  to 
lick  the  envelope.  Good-bye." 

I  did  not  expect  to  come  across  my  old  friend  Mrs.  Packles, 
inarticulate  and  apologetic,  in  the  front  pantry  probably,  testify- 
ing, over  a  basket  load  of  cleanness  tucked  up  round  the  top  with 
a  red  bandana  handkerchief,  to  the  unexampled  good  faith  she 
proposed  to  exhibit.  Her  sudden  appearance  had  a  strange  effect 
on  me — that  of  a  moment  of  apprehension  that  she  would  com- 
municate the  tale  of  my  Father  and  the  Sweep  to  Poplar  Villa 
and  upset  everything.  The  fifty  years  had  slipped  away  as  I  read. 
In  an  instant  they  recollected  me  and  came  back  brandishing  a 
change  of  tense  for  Mrs.  Packles;  to  be  sure  she  might  have  told 
them  all  about  it.  But  then  apparently  she  didn't !  I  don't  think 
the  story  ever  reached  the  Villa. 

I  was  not  the  least  surprised  to  find  recorded  another  instance  of 
the  effect  of  the  Magic  Board.  No  sooner  did  Dr.  Thorpe's  eyes 
light  on  it  than  ex-post-facto  visions  of  that  Board  came  un- 
questioned and  convincing  into  what  he  really  thought  was  his 
Memory.  There  never  was  another  Board  like  that  one!  I  dis- 
cerned its  influence  also  on  Dr.  Thorpe  in  the  correct  attitude  of 
mind  shown  by  his  way  of  accounting  for  my  Father's  back- 
wardness in  the  world.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  Board  he  would 
have  said  perhaps  my  Father  tippled,  perhaps  he  didn't  pay  the 
weekly  wages,  perhaps  he  was  quarrelsome,  perhaps  he  hadn't  any 
money — perhaps  anything!  But  the  Board  mesmerized  him,  and 
directed  him  to  say  that  he  was  a  Man  without  Capital.  It  was 
probably  an  unconscious  record  that  my  Father  was  on  the  first 
stepping-stone  to  success.  For  no  sooner  is  it  clear  that  you  are 
a  Man  without  Capital  than  it  is  nearly  equally  clear  that  the  Cap- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  79 

ital  you  haven't  got  is  somewhere  else,  and  may  drift  your  way.  Of 
course  it  is  uninvested  and  lying  idle,  because  nobody  in  his 
senses  would  disturb  an  Investment.  But  it  is  in  the  air,  and 
if  you  make  it  distinctly  understood  that  you  are  only  going  to 
handle  it,  but  not  to  use  it  for  any  specific  object,  you  may  cap- 
ture some  of  it.  Don't  say  what  you  mean  to  do  with  it!  I 
know  a  lady  who  sold  all  her  shares  in  a  gold-mine  because  she 
heard  that  the  Company  had  spent  £2000  on  one  stamping 
machine.  "It  may  have  been  my  £2000!"  said  she,  indignantly. 

The  next  letter,  written  from  Herne  Bay,  gives  a  graphic 
account  of  the  journey. 

"  We  had  to  get  up  at  six  to  be  in  time  for  the  Packet.  And  the 
fuss!  I  had  no  idea  it  was  possible  for  any  one  to  be  in  such  a 
stew  as  Aunty.  Vicey  is  bad  enough,  but  then  she  never  packs 
anything  wrong,  because  she  never  packs  anything  at  all.  She  only 
gives  out  that  she  gives  up,  and  calls  us  all  to  witness  that  if  any- 
thing whatever  is  wrong  it  won't  be  her  fault,  and  that  if  the  Boat 
goes  to  the  bottom  she  hopes  we'll  remember  that  she  said  so  all 
along.  I  think  this  the  meanest  prophesying.  If  I  was  a  prophet 
I'd  be  one,  and  not  make  holes  to  get  out  at.  But  Vi  is  nothing  to 
Aunty  because  she  is  a  Puddle  in  a  Storm,  and  carries  no  weight. 
Really  to  hear  Aunty  about  those  cabs!  As  it  was  they  did  come 
quite  ten  minutes  before  they  promised.  But  there  was  Aunty! 
Looking  at  her  watch  every  two  minutes  and  calling  to  Anne  over 
the  stairs  that  she  knew  the  clock  in  the  Hall  was  slow,  and  march- 
ing off  with  sudden  determination  to  Pa  in  his  Library  and  saying, 
*  Randall,  I  know  those  cabs  will  be  late  and  we  shall  lose  the  Boat. 
And  you  know  how  awful  the  confusion  is  at  London  Bridge  and 
most  likely  all  the  streets  blocked.'  And  then  when  the  cabs  did 
come  Aunty  denounced  one  of  the  horses  as  Unfit  for  Work,  and 
wanted  Pa  to  insist  on  its  being  inspected  at  once  by  the  Society  for 
Cruelty  to  Animals.  And  Pa  said  we  shouldn't  get  off.  And  then 
Aunty  got  into  another  stew  about  the  boxes  on  the  top  being  too 
heavy,  and  tipping  the  cab  over  and  coming  through  the  roof  on  our 
heads.  But  the  men  said  if  they  was  corded  tight  enough  across 
the  top  they  wouldn't  come  through — and  then  Aunty  was  satisfied. 

"  But  I  really  was  frightened  we  shouldn't  get  the  Boat.  For 
when  we  got  to  London  Bridge  Wharf  there  was  a  stoppage  and  all 
our  luggage  had  to  be  carried  by  separate  men,  and  of  course  any 
one  of  them  might  have  got  away  in  the  crowd,  and  we  should  never 
have  seen  our  Box  again.  But  they  all  said  they  were  very  honest 


80  JOSEPH  VANCE 

and  trustworthy,  and  appealed  to  a  Policeman  who  said  he  wasn't 
on  duty.  However,  in  the  end  the  party  got  off  safely  in  a  boat 
called  the  Red  Rover,  Captain  Large,  the  machinery  of  which  gave 
great  satisfaction.  Only  Joey  wanted  all  the  brass  parts  detached 
and  given  to  him,  and  Aunty  was  very  uncomfortable  at  such  a 
lot  of  heavy  iron,  and  asked  a  Mariner  whether  the  boat  didn't 
sometimes  go  down,  and  he  said  not  on  this  line.  But  he  gave  the 
boats  on  the  other  line  a  very  bad  character  and  hinted  that  they 
very  seldom  arrived  at  their  journey's  end.  And  Aunty  conversed 
with  him  for  some  time  from  her  eminence  (you  know  her  way) 
and  gave  him  a  shilling.  She  insisted  on  Pa  saying  Grace  at  din- 
ner in  the  Cabin,  and  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  f  It  may  be  the  last 
time  you  will  ever  say  Grace,  Randall.'  And  I  don't  know,  but 
I'm  almost  sure  some  rude  young  men  at  the  next  table  heard  this 
and  one  said,  'For  what  we  are  going  to  bring  up  Lord  make  us 
truly  thankful.'  And  I  believe  Pa  heard  it  too,  because  he  laughed 
so.  I  hope  Vicey  didn't.  I  suppose  not,  because  she  said  she 
thought  them  nice  gentlemanly  young  men.  You  know  how  she 
changes  her  note  when  it's  Religion. 

"  But  we  weren't  very  bad,  any  of  us,  and  it's  always  great  fun 
going  along  the  Pier,  which  is  two  miles  long,  in  a  truck  with  a 
sail,  only  of  course  Aunty,  who  has  never  been,  thought  it  wasn't 
safe  and  asked  a  very  stout  man  in  blue  with  an  oilskin  hat  whether 
it  would  blow  over  the  pier.  And  he  thought  she  wanted  to  know 
how  soon  it  started  and  said  presently  Marm.  And  Pa  said  it 
usually  blew  over  about  halfway.  Wasn't  it  a  shame  to  make 
game  of  poor  Aunty  ?  Only  I  do  it  just  as  much  as  anybody." 

This  letter,  trivial  enough  in  itself,  has  a  kind  of  indirect 
interest  to  me,  as  it  shows  that  for  the  time  being  the  Boy  had 
quite  passed  out  of  Miss  Lossie's  mind,  though  the  Boy's  mind 
continued  full  of  Miss  Lossie  and  Poplar  Villa.  I  gave  highly 
coloured  versions  of  the  family  to  Porky  Owls  and  other  friends, 
and  was  indeed  offensive  in  my  claim  of  acquired  knowledge  in 
respect  of  Euclid.  I  clearly  remember  treasuring  an  inten- 
tion to  disclose  my  erudition  suddenly  to  Porky,  to  his  disparage- 
ment and  humiliation.  I  felt  that  his  vulgar  technical  superiority 
at  Peg-in-the-Ring  was  at  an  end,  and  chose  the  first  occasion 
to  pounce  on  him  with  "  You  don't  know  what  Equilateral 
Triangles  are,  nor  yet  Equiangular."  Porky,  with  great  presence 
of  mind,  denied  the  existence  of  both.  In  detail,  and  as  soon  as 
he  had  been  informed  of  the  claims  of  these  triangles,  he  re- 
pudiated equality  in  the  sides  of  any  figures  whatever  except 


JOSEPH  VANCE  81 

squares.  "  They  would,"  said  he,  "  be  oneven  all  over  exceptin* 
they  was  drored  square."  I  endeavoured  to  convince  him  by  draw- 
ing one  on  the  ground  (as  I  had  said  he  and  I  could  do)  with  peg- 
top  strings,  and  I  regret  to  say  failed  altogether  to  produce  in  him 
a  Geometrical  frame  of  mind.  He  entrenched  himself  behind  the 
greater  accuracy  of  eyesight  of  a  chap  thirteen  months  older  than 
me,  alleging  that  it  all  depended  which  side  you  stood,  the  two 
top  lines  being  always  longer  than  the  bottom  one,  and  the  top 
corner  always  'arf  as  sharp  again.  I  pointed  out  that  I  had  got 
'em  all  off  of  one  string!  But  Porky  was  a  difficult  opponent 
in  argument,  for  he  fell  back  on  the  inherent  varieties  in  the 
radii  of  the  same  circle.  "You  try  ever  so,"  said  he,  "you'll 
never  get  'em  alike  all  the  way  round."  He  then  took  up  the 
position  that  he  (being  older)  could  supply  me  with  a  much 
better  form  of  three  equal  lines,  by  droring  of  'em  straight 
across  a  paving-stone.  "What  do  you  want  with  'em  jined  up?" 
said  he. 

Porky  was  by  no  means  the  last  example  of  his  school  that  I 
have  found  difficult  to  convince.  The  Mechanical  World,  with 
which  I  have  had  something  to  do  since  those  days,  bristles  with 
grown-up  Porkies.  No  young  man  trying  to  bring  forward  an 
invention  is  without  many  experiences  of  the  condescension  of 
superior  knowledge  which  not  only  offers  him  a  better  means  of 
doing  what  he  proposes,  but  indicates  how  much  better  it  would 
be  to  use  those  means  to  do  something  entirely  different.  After 
this  collision  with  Porky  I  decided  to  conceal  my  new-found 
learning.  I  had  pictured  myself  careering  into  Fame  on  the  sides 
or  angles  of  instructive  triangles.  But  I  made  no  further  attempt 
on  Gummy  Harbuttle  or  any  one  else.  I  had  received  my  first 
snub  for  offering  a  new  idea  to  an  unwilling  intellect. 

There  follow  several  letters  from  Herne  Bay  written  to  Sarita 
Spencer.  A  great  deal  is  incomprehensible  to  me,  and  there  is 
no  one  living  who  can  explain  it,  except,  of  course,  the  writer, 
whom  I  can  scarcely  consult  for  reasons  which  will  appear  later. 
Neither  if  I  could  do  so  would  anything  be  gained,  as  the  un- 
intelligible parts  evidently  relate  to  matters  of  no  importance. 

I  am  really  only  hunting  for  references  to  myself.  Still,  some 
passages  bring  back  the  family  so  vividly  as  to  be  worth  copying. 
For  instance,  Lossie  writes  a  sentence  all  wrong,  and  has  to  write 
it  over  again  because  of  Joey,  whom  I  can  fancy  climbing  over 
her  more  sub,  and  hindering  frightfully.  "I  can't,"  she  says, 
"scratch  out  anything  and  alter,  because  if  I  do  Joey  wants  to 


82  JOSEPH   VANCE 

know  why,  and  if  he  isn't  satisfied  tries  to  clean  up  the  alteration.'1 
The  letter  continues: — 


"  I  thought  Vicey  had  got  rubbishing  novels  enough  to  keep  her 
quiet,  but  it  seems  not.  What  does  she  do  but  go  and  scrape  ac- 
quaintance with  some  young  men  who  are  idling  about  every  day 
on  the  beach  or  rowing  in  boats.  And  then  Aunty  makes  a  row 
and  says  Papa  wouldn't  approve,  which  is  very  likely  true,  without 
any  introduction  or  anything.  I  actually  saw  her  let  one  of  those 
young  men  carry  her  books  up  the  beach  for  her  and  help  her  over 
the  breakwater.  I  wonder  if  she's  going  to  write  to  Alice  Pratt 
about  that !  I  shouldn't  the  least  wonder  if  she  did.  But  he  can't 
be  over  eighteen  so  it  could  hardly  count." 

That  is  Violet  all  over.  Of  course  she  did!  I  suppose  the 
reason  I  had  not  already  seen  her  in  this  character  was  that  there 
was  no  young  male  visitor  at  Poplar  Villa  when  I  was  there. 
Then  follows  a  little  about  Aunt  Isabella : — 

"  Do  you  know  Aunty  is  getting  dreadfully  deaf,  and  the  other 
day  when  that  clergyman  said  something  about  deathbed  repent- 
ance, she  said  she  hadn't  got  tenpence,  but  could  change  half-a- 
crown.  And  when  that  Mrs.  Matthison  said  I'm  afraid  you  find 
your  girls  very  unmanageable,  '  But,  my  dear  Clarissa,  even  Violet 
is  only  just  sixteen,  and  it  is  so  very  soon  to  begin  thinking  about 
such  things.'  And  we  had  such  a  job  to  make  out  that  she  thought 
Mrs.  Matthison  had  said  unmarriageable.  And  then  she  said  she 
could  quite  well  hear,  and  we  needn't  shout !  I  hope  it  isn't  going 
to  get  worse." 

Violet  evidently  didn't  think  it  a  bit  too  soon.  But  whether 
she  was  unmarriageable  or  not,  she  was  certainly  unmanageable; 
and  Aunt  Isabella  must  have  been  conscious  that  she  had  her 
hands  full.  However,  Violet  clearly  knew  the  weak  side  of  her 
deaf  Aunt,  and  regulated  her  conduct  accordingly.  For  this  is 
what  follows  in  the  same  letter,  written  later  in  the  day : — 

"  I  declare  I  really  am  quite  disgusted  with  Vicey.  You  know 
she  is  just  as  pigheaded  as  a  mad  bull  when  she  gets  the  bit  in  her 
teeth.  In  spite  of  all  I  say,  just  fancy  her  actually  bringing  that 
young  man  into  the  house  and  facing  Aunty  with  him !  I  must  say 


JOSEPH  VANCE  83 

I  do  admire  her  intrepidity !  Of  course  it  may  be  all  true  what  he 
says,  that  he's  a  cousin  of  the  Bellamy  Seftons,  and  that  his  Aunt 
Jane  married  an  Arklow,  but  what  I  want  to  know  is  how  did  Yicey 
know  he  was  when  she  let  him  carry  her  books  for  her  and  help 
her  over  the  breakwater?  He  didn't  rush  at  her  and  say  I  am  a 
cousin  of  the  Bellamy  Seftons,  let  me  carry  your  three-volume 
novel,  nor,  my  Aunt  Jane  married  an  Arklow,  let  me  lift  you  over 
this  breakwater !  And  yet  when  I  went  down  into  the  parlour  there 
was  Aunty  already  talking  family  with  him  and  asking  if  those 
were  the  Arklows  of  Packlington  or  the  Arklows  of  Stowe  ?  Don't 
you  know  her  dim  remote  genteel  air  with  her  eyes  half  closed 
behind  her  spectacles,  and  looking  as  if  she  was  Debrett's  Aunt  at 
least?  She  only  seemed  a  little  uneasy  about  what  could  possibly 
bring  a  Connection  of  an  Arklow  to  such  a  place  as  Herne  Bay. 
The  young  man,  whose  name  is  Robert  Sefton,  said  he'd  come  for 
a  lark  with  his  two  friends,  but  that  it  was  so  awfully  jolly  that  he 
wished  his  mother  and  sister  to  come  too  from  Scarborough. 
Aunty  seemed  to  think  Scarborough  much  more  proper  for  Family 
families." 

Lossie's  next  letter  a  few  days  later  treats  Vi  with  great ' 
severity.  But  I  think  it  only  just  to  call  attention  to  the  first 
and  last  sentences  of  what  follows,  and  to  indicate  that  the  very 
sensible  boy,  or  young  man,  must  have  come  in  rather  soon  to 
assist  in  moralizing.  Both  these  young  people  seem  to  have  taken 
a  very  superior  tone — almost  too  good  to  be  true!  Here  is  the 
letter:— 

"  I  took  ever  such  a  long  walk  this  morning  all  by  myself.  Only 
Joey  of  course.  And  I  got  very  melancholy  thinking  about  Mamma 
and  what  a  bad  thing  it  is  for  a  girl  like  Vicey  to  have  no  mother 
to  look  after  her  and  keep  her  in  decent  order.  It  set  me  wonder- 
ing whether  I  really  was  going  to  have  an  elder  sister  who  was  a 
flirt — I  always  thought  that  flirts  and  forgers  and  embezzlers  and 
murderers  were  things  they  had  in  other  people's  families  and  in 
the  newspapers,  but  not  people  like  us.  I  can't  imagine  where 
Vicey  can  have  inherited  it  from.  Perhaps  our  great-great-grand- 
mother when  she  was  sixteen  always  had  some  young  goose  in  tow. 
And  will  Vicey's  great-great-granddaughter  follow  her  example? 
Robert  Sefton's  cousin  Edward  Clayton,  who  really  seems  a  very 
sensible  boy,  or  young  man,  told  me  Robert  was  just  like  that — if 
it  wasn't  one  girl  it  was  another.  And  he  said  he  should  like  to 
know  what  Sylvia  Halliday  would  have  said  if  she'd  seen  Robert 


84  JOSEPH   VANCE 

fastening  Miss  Violet's  glove  for  her  and  every  one  a  thousand 
miles  away.  Of  course  I  said  it  would  have  been  very  unreasonable 
in  the  girl  whoever  she  was  to  say  anything  about  it,  because  why 
on  earth  shouldn't  Robert  fasten  up  Vicey's  glove  if  it  got  unbut- 
toned? And  then  I  said  if  every  one  else  was  a  thousand  miles 
off  how  came  you  to  see  it?  And  he  said  he  saw  it  through  his 
telescope.  And  I  said  how  mean.  And  he  said  he  couldn't  help  it 
because  he  was  looking  to  see  where  Aunt  Izzy  was,  as  he'd  prom- 
ised to  take  her  a  bit  of  India-rubber,  and  he  came  across  Vicey 
and  Robert  quite  by  accident.  I  dare  say  you'll  say  it  wasn't 
a  thing  to  make  a  fuss  about,  but  then  you  hadn't  seen  Vicey  when 
she  tried  those  gloves  on  looking  at  those  pretty  hands  of  hers  and 
then  when  one  wouldn't  button  saying  she  thought  the  little 
bit  that  showed  through  was  quite  as  fetching  as  the  whole 
hand. 

"  I  should  have  blown  up  Edward  Clayton  more,  only  Joey,  who 
had  been  very  silent  for  a  long  time,  suddenly  said,  'A  lady  or 
a  gentleman  ? '  and  I  couldn't  think  at  first  what  he  meant.  Then 
I  remembered  that  I  had  told  him  when  I  wasn't  there  he  must 
ask  to  have  his  nose  wiped  if  he  couldn't  do  it  himself.  So  I  said 
'  Oh,  your  nose !  Why,  a  lady,  of  course !  Gentlemen  don't  know 
how.'  And  then  Edward  Clayton  had  to  be  explained  to  and  Joey 
and  I  only  just  got  in  in  time  for  dinner.  But  I  went  on  thinking 
over  Vicey  just  where  Edward  Clayton  had  interrupted.  .  .  ." 

And  then  a  page  is  torn  off,  and  the  juvenile  flirtations  and 
Herne  Bay  beach  and  Joey's  nose  all  vanish  in  an  instant,  and 
I  awake  to  the  fact  that  I  am  chilly,  that  the  fire  wants  attending 
to  (even  as  Joey's  nose  did)  and  that  Betsy  Austin,  when  she 
did  my  room  up  this  morning,  didn't  do  any  oil  into  my  lamp. 
I  pay  the  penalty  of  a  hatred  of  gas — a  hatred  which  rejects 
its  services;  and  my  lamp  will  grow  dimmer  and  dimmer,  and  I 
shall  turn  it  up  and  prolong  short  instalments  of  life,  and  spoil 
the  wick.  Suppose  I  show  resolution  and  blow  it  out!  I  will, 
and  do.  I  also  break  a  coal  that  has  been  out  of  sympathy  with 
the  rest  of  the  fuel,  and  force  it  to  take  a  part  in  public  life.  It 
flares,  and  I  can  now  see  to  carry  the  lamp  into  the  passage, 
that  it  may  poison  some  one  else.  Then  I  open  the  window,  and 
admit  some  fresh  air,  and  a  great  deal  of  fresh  fog.  It  is  better 
than  Paraffin.  As  soon  as  the  relative  values  of  chill  and  stench 
give  a  good  average  unpleasantness,  I  shut  the  window. 

There  is  one  more  Herne  Bay  letter,  a  long  one.  But  it  is  on 
other  paper,  probably  local,  which  has  not  taken  the  ink  well  and 


JOSEPH  VANCE  85 

will  be  difficult  to  decipher.  And  it  is  late  as  I  write — and  my 
eyesight  has  its  limits.  The  remains  of  the  firelight  will  do  to 
get  to  bed  by,  but  not  to  decipher  a  letter. 

I  will  sit  here  a  little  in  the  half -dark  and  try  to  look  forward 
and  backward — forward  to  the  next  letter  I  shall  read,  backward 
over  the  long  perspective  of  the  years  between. 

What  do  I  care  to  know  about  in  that  next  letter?  I  feel  a 
sort  of  interest  about  what  will  come  of  the  flirtation,  only  being 
sure  that  nothing  substantial  came  of  it  (or  I  should  have  known), 
that  interest  is  perfunctory.  I  rather  want  to  know  what  Dr. 
Thorpe  thought  of  the  two  young  Seftons  and  their  cousin  when 
he  came  by  the  boat  the  week  after.  But  what  I  really — really — 
want  to  find  in  that  next  letter  is  some  further  allusion  of  Lossie's 
to  the  small  boy  who  gathered  the  pears  and  had  the  funny 
accent,  and  whom  her  father  was  going  to  send  to  school  because 
of  his  aptitude  for  Euclid. 

It  is  so  strange  to  think  that  she  is  living  now!  If  only  she 
could  come  in  at  that  door  and  I  could  see  her  face  again  by  the 
flicker  of  this  fire  that  is  dying!  But  I  look  back  through 
five  decades,  and  at  the  far-off  end  see  an  ill-controlled  lock  of 
sunny  hair  that  will  not  leave  the  long  eyelashes  of  two  grey- 
blue  eyes  untickled.  And  a  very  small  boy  in  London  wondering 
whether  Miss  Lossie  at  Herne  Bay  recollects  him,  even  as  the 
old  man  he  has  become  still  wonders  how  if  on  reading  that  next 
letter  he  will  find  a  record  of  that  recollection. 

Lossie  begins  her  next  letter  from  Herne  Bay  by  saying  she 
had  hoped  Vicey  and  her  admirer  had  fallen  out.  But 

"  It  was  only  that  they  quarrelled  because  he  was  irreligious,  or 
Vicey  said  he  was.  She  says  he  admitted  that  he  only  went  to 
Church  because  she  did,  and  Vicey  says  if  that  isn't  Atheism  she 
should  like  to  know  what  is.  I  could  have  told  her  what  Kobert 
said  on  the  steamboat,  which  I  suppose  was  Atheism  too,  only  I 
thought  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  Robert,  who  said  it  in  confidence  to 
the  others.  However,  unfortunately  it  didn't  last,  and  now  they 
are  reconciled  again,  and  Vicey  told  me  last  night  that  Robert  is 
really  at  heart  a  thoroughly  religious  young  man  only  not  in  sym- 
pathy with  empty  forms.  I  asked  her  if  Church  was  an  empty 
form,  and  she  said  of  course  I  could  twist  her  words  to  mean  any- 
thing I  liked,  but  the  meaning  was  perfectly  clear  to  any  un- 
prejudiced person.  So  I  went  to  sleep  and  dreamed  that  Vicey 
was  talking  about  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  all  night." 


86  JOSEPH   VANCE 

"  Sept.  5. 

"  I  left  this  letter  unfinished  yesterday  and  must  try  to  get  it 
done  for  this  post.  I'm  really  glad  we  are  coming  back  so  soon, 
because  Vi  and  Robert  Sefton  have  got  to  be  quite  a  nuisance. 
Last  night  I  saw  there  was  going  to  be  a  revelation,  and  no  sooner 
were  Vicey  and  I  in  bed  than  Yicey  begins :  '  Lossie  darling,  nov 
do  be  a  ducky  and  don't  go  to  sleep  just  yet,  because  I've  something 
I  want  to  tell  you.'  So  I  said  I  was  just  off,  and  she  would  have 
to  look  alive.  And  she  said,  *  Oh,  well,  now  I  do  call  that  unfeel- 
ing— if  you  wanted  to  tell  me  about  an  Offer  you'd  had,  I  shouldn't 
be  so  unkind'  So  I  said  had  she  had  a  love-letter  from  Theo- 
phrastus  Absalom — because  you  know  it  was  him  just  before  we 
came  away.  And  Vi  repeated  his  name  with  withering  scorn,  a 
syllable  at  a  time.  '  No,  it  was  not  Theophrastus  Absalom,  nor 
even  my  little  Joey  Vance's  big  brother,  if  he  had  one.  But 
there!  I  knew  perfectly  well  who  it  was,  only  if  I  was  going  to  be 
unsisterly  she  would  go  to  sleep.'  I  said  very  well  only  not  to  pull 
all  the  clothes  to  her  side.  Then  she  melted  and  became  pathetic, 
and  said  that  she  and  Robert  loved  one  another  dearly,  and  neither 
of  them  had  ever  cared  about  anybody  else  before,  and  it  was  so 
hard  to  have  nobody  to  sympathize  with,  and  wouldn't  I  tell  Aunty. 
I  said  I  thought  Aunty  would  be  jealous  at  having  her  new  sweet- 
heart taken  away,  and  V.  said  very  well  if  I  wouldn't  be  serious 
she  would  go  to  sleep.  So  I  said  what  on  earth  was  I  to  tell  Aunty, 
and  she  said  tell  her  they  were  engaged.  And  I  said  stuff!  they 
couldn't  be  engaged  without  anybody's  consent.  She  said  be- 
trothed then.  And  it  was  a  solemn  matter  whatever  a  chit  like  me 
might  think.  She  was  going  on  that  she  was  Robert's  and  Robert 
was  hers,  and  it  was  Destiny,  when  I  went  off  to  sleep.  And  next 
morning  I  told  her  not  to  be  a  goose.  And  it  was  Theo  Absalom 
till  a  month  ago  whatever  V.  may  say  to  the  contrary.  As  for 
my  dear  little  Joey  Vance,  my  other  Joey  I  call  him,  that  was  only 
the  nearest  fling  she  could  get  at  me,  only  as  he's  so  small  and 
such  a  baby  that  you  could  take  him  on  your  knee  and  kiss  him, 
she  couldn't  well  say  him — so  she  said  his  big  brother!  I  wonder 
what  Mr.  Penguin  will  make  of  Master  Joey.  He  gives  himself 
airs  enough  about  his  System  of  Education.  Papa  wrote  that  he 
had  seen  his  Mother  about  him,  and  thought  he  saw  why  the  child 
is  clever.  The  father  he  says  is  evidently  a  man  of  ability  quenched 
in  beer,  but  trying  hard  to  burn  up,  and  the  mother  a  good  and 
affectionate  woman  with  a  curious  paradoxical  inconsistency  (all 
these  phrases  are  Pa's)  that  shows  a  certain  stirring  of  the  brain. 
He  had  noticed  her  before  among  the  poor  people  at  the  Savings 
Bank." 


JOSEPH   VANCE  87 

I  suppose  few  people  ever  experience  a  stranger  sensation  than 
mine  as  I  read  the  foregoing  record  of  Dr.  Thorpe's  first  im- 
pression of  my  parents;  of  the  effect  they  produced  on  the  man 
whom  I  have  always  accounted  a  second  father,  and  surely  one 
of  the  truest  friends  that  it  ever  was  man's  lot  to  possess.  And 
his  impression  was  so  accurate.  The  "  ability  quenched  in  beer  " 
grated  on  me  a  little.  But  I  am  forced  to  acknowledge  its  truth. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  additional  stimulus  supplied  to  my 
Father's  resolution  towards  temperance  by  the  feeling  that  his 
Joey  had  really  got  a  New  Latin  Book,  and  was  being  brought 
up  a  Scollard,  may  it  not  easily  be  that  the  powers  of  the  Magic 
Board  might  have  been  overtaxed?  Little  things  turn  the  scale, 
even  against  the  nasty  liquid  that  the  British  Working-man  has 
made  his  God,  and  this  consideration  thrown  in  may  just  have 
made  the  difference  in  my  Father's  life.  Anyhow,  a  thousand 
souls  that  might  have  burned  up  are  daily  quenched  in  beer. 

I  know  all  these  letters  of  Lossie's  would  have  produced  on  me, 
had  I  read  them  as  a  stranger,  an  entirely  different  impression 
of  their  author  from  the  one  the  little  semi-ragamuffin  received 
from  the  (to  him)  glorious  vision  that  burst  suddenly  on  him  at 
Poplar  Villa.  Probably  the  former  would  be  the  truer,  and  would 
be  generally  in  harmony  with  the  epithets  we  have  heard  bestowed 
on  Miss  Lossie.  Did  not  that  lady,  Miss  Shuckford  Smith's  half- 
sister,  say  she  was  a  Piece  of  Goods?  and  her  Father  testify  that 
she  was  a  young  Puss,  and  her  sister  that  she  was  a  Chit?  Can 
these  epithets  be  made  to  harmonize  with  a  small  boy's  experience 
that  a  sort  of  Angel  has  stooped  out  of  Heaven  to  him  in  a 
flood  of  warm  light,  and  left  him  with  a  budget  of  most  precious 
events  to  narrate  to  his  Mother?  Well — yes — I  should  say  it  was 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  Only  one  point  needs  a 
marginal  note;  that  is  the  change  in  the  ages  of  the  young,  es- 
pecially girls,  in  this  past  half-century.  I  have  remarked  my- 
self, and  have  heard  it  remarked  by  other  old-stagers,  that  a  girl 
now  is  often  no  older  at  twenty  than  one  of  sixteen  in  his  boy- 
hood. I  should  say  probably  Lossie  at  this  present  time  would 
have  been,  at  sixteen,  what  she  then  was  at  fifteen.  Making  a 
slight  allowance  for  this,  the  dazzle  appears  to  me  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  Especially  as  it  comes  back  in  full 
force  from  reading  letters  in  which  I  now  see  exactly  what  Lossie 
seemed  like  then  to  other  people. 

Why  wasn't  I  overwhelmed  also  by  Miss  Violet?  She  was  just 
as  pretty,  indeed  in  most  folks'  eyes  a  good  deal  more  so.  She 
was  more  bien  mise,  and  had  about  her  more  of  the  young  woman 


88  JOSEPH   VANCE 

and  less  of  the  growing  girl  than  Lossie.  There  might  have  been 
another  year  between  their  ages,  all  to  go  to  Violet's  score.  But 
I  wasn't  her  slave  in  the  least.  I  only  just  looked  at  her  that 
day  I  picked  the  pears,  and  then  glued  my  eyes  on  Lossie.  In  a 
certain  sense  I  have  never  taken  them  ofi. 


CHAPTEE  XI 


A  VERY  SHORT  CHAPTER  ABOUT  HOW  JOEY  WENT  TO  MR.  PENGUIN'S 
SEMINARY,  OR  ACADEMY.  NEVERTHELESS,  IT  TELLS  HOW  HE  DID 
LATIN  WITH  LOSSIE'S  ARM  ROUND  HIM. 

SOME  arrangements  must  have  been  made  between  the  Doctor 
and  my  Mother  about  my  furbishing  up  for  Penguin's;  as  I  was 
so  very  smart  when  I  presented  myself  on  opening  day  in  com- 
pany with  Nolly,  as  an  experienced  guide.  I  suspect  I  looked 
very  much  like  him  two  years  before,  as  I  believe  I  profited  by 
his  old  wardrobe.  It  was  a  very  nice  fit,  and  I  felt  puffed  up. 

In  case  it  should  strike  you  that  I  have  said,  or  do  say,  very 
little  about  Nolly,  I  hereby  declare  that  this  is  not  that  I  did 
not  love  him,  for  we  soon  became  very  lies,  but  because  when  a 
life  is  absolutely  and  entirely  devoted  to  gloating  over  a  new 
cricket  bat,  a  set  of  lancewood  stumps  the  full  size,  four  bails 
(and  two  over  in  case  of  loss),  and  two  seven-and-sixpenny  red 
balls  with  beautiful  stitching,  that  life  loses  interest  for  an  un- 
feeling world  which  does  not  care  to  wire  in  and  gloat  too.  The 
practice  of  Platonic  bowling  (explanation  needless  to  parents  and 
guardians),  and  the  property  of  yielding  Linseed  Oil  like  a  secre- 
tion, belong  to  this  phase  of  boyhood. 

I  can  only  remember  one  remark  of  Nolly's  as  we  walked  to 
Penguin's.  It  was  "  Picklethwaite  says  Dark's  are  better  than 
Clapshaw's — I  think  Clapshaw's  better  than  Dark's.  Mine  are 
Clapshaw's";  which  referred  to  the  qualities  of  bats.  Otherwise 
Nolly  was  silent,  dreaming  about  wickets. 

When  we  got  to  school  Nolly  put  aside  his  inner  visions  for 
the  moment,  and  vouchsafed  information.  I  have  since  seen 
reason  to  believe  it  was  all  wrong.  For  instance,  he  represented 
to  me  that  a  boy  in  spectacles,  who  sniffed  suddenly  at  intervals 
like  a  minute-gun,  was  the  younger  son  of  a  noble  family  all  of 
whom  had  this  unpleasant  habit,  besides  being  for  the  most  part 
in  lunatic  asylums;  that  another  always  got  off  scot-free  what- 
ever mischief  he  did,  because  his  father  was  a  prize-fighter  of 
whom  Penguin  stood  in  bodily  fear;  that  one  of  the  ushers 
occasionally  came  out  all  over  bright-blue  spots  which  had  to 


90  JOSEPH  VANCE 

be  removed  with  powerful  chemicals.  And  so  forth.  So  I  felt  I 
was  beginning  to  see  the  world.  Nolly  believed  all  these  state- 
ments, and  wasn't  hoaxing.  He  had  been  told  them  by  others, 
Big  Boys,  and  passed  them  on  to  me. 

I  remember  most  clearly  on  that  morning  at  Penguin's  the 
horror  and  indignation  of  the  undermaster  who  took  myself  and 
other  new  boys  in  charge,  at  my  comparative  backwardness  in 
reading  and  writing;  for  of  course  I  was  behind  the  other  boys  of 
eight  and  nine,  after  such  a  scrappy  grounding  as  I  had  had.  I 
soon  made  up  for  it  after,  but  on  this  first  day  Mr.  Cupples,  the 
sub  in  question,  made  me  the  object  of  popular  derision.  How- 
ever, it  was  necessary  that  I  should  start  neck  and  neck  with  my 
maturer  companions,  and  the  new  Latin  and  French  books  were 
served  out  accordingly,  and  I  carried  them  back  with  pride  to 
ask  Dr.  Thorpe  to  write  my  name  in  them. 

Dr.  Thorpe  was  in  his  library  up  a  ladder,  absorbed  in  a  book 
he  had  taken  out  from  the  top  shelf.  Nolly  deemed  it  due  to 
his  function  as  guide  to  usher  me  in  with  "Here's  little  Vance, 
Pater,  wants  you  to  write  his  name  in  his  new  School  Books." 
And  the  Doctor  said  little  Vance  must  wait  a  minute.  Then 
Nolly  said  to  me,  as  an  instruction  from  superior  experience, 
"You  wait  there  till  the  Governor  comes  down,"  and  ran  off  to 
gloat  a  little  over  his  Cricket  Bat.  And  presently  the  Doctor 
came  down,  and  picked  little  Vance  up  and  held  him  out  to  look 
at  (for  I  was  very  small)  and  said,  "Well,  you're  not  a  very  big 
new  schoolboy."  And  I  replied  (being  still  at  arm's  length), 

"  Please,  Sir,  I  was  to  thank  you "  And  he  put  me  down  and 

said,  "  Good  Boy !  And  now  let's  look  at  the  Books."  And  then 
he  wrote  my  name  in  the  Latin  Book,  and  said,  "This  pen 
splutters,"  and  changed  it  for  another  to  do  the  French  Book. 
And  when  he  had  put  my  name  in  both,  he  went  up  the  ladder 
again,  and  I  carried  my  books  off,  longing  to  show  them  to  Miss 
Lossie  every  bit  as  much  as  Nolly  longed  for  his  superior  Bat. 

I  heard  Miss  Lossie's  voice  and  her  sister's,  and  the  noise 
called  Visitors  going  on  in  the  drawing-room,  with  the  occasional 
genteel  murmur  of  Aunt  Izzy;  whose  deafness  at  the  moment  I 
came  near  the  door  had  led  her  into  some  misapprehension,  for 
I  heard  Lossie's  raised  voice  saying,  emphatically,  "No,  Aunty 
dear,  not  serpents — servants"  and  then  Aunty  saying,  "Well, 
dear,  you  needn't  shout  so !  Of  course  I  understood  that  I  hadn't 
heard  the  word  right.  Because  serpents  couldn't  forget  to  post 
a  letter."  Then  I  felt  with  satisfaction  that  the  Visitors  were 
intensifying  and  going  to  climax,  and  while  they  did  so  I  sup- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  91 

pressed  myself  to  pounce  on  Miss  Lossie  as  she  returned  through 
the  passage,  evidently  intent  on  recapitulating  the  Visitors  with 
Miss  Vi  and  her  Aunt  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Well,  now,"  cried  she,  "I  declare  here's  Joey  Vance  himself! 
Looking  quite  smart  and  a  real  schoolboy  with  books.  Come  in 
and  have  cake." 

The  real  Joey  was  busy  with  the  cake,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say 
exclaimed  as  Miss  Lossie  led  me  in,  "He'th  not  to  have  that 
peeth. — I'm  going  to  have  that  peeth." 

"  He  shall  have  that  very  piece  and  no  other,"  said  Miss  Lossie, 
giving  it  to  me,  "and  you're  a  horrible  selfish  little  Monster,  if 
ever  there  was  one !  " 

"Then,"  said  the  Monster,  "I'll  have  that  big  peeth."  And 
Miss  Lossie  said,  "Indeed  you  shan't — you  know  very  well  that 
that  big  piece  is  The  Cake  itself.  Now  be  a  dear  good  little  boy 
and  finish  the  piece  you've  got,  and  if  you  don't  burst  perhaps 
you  shall  have  a  little  piece  more.  We  shall  see!" 

"  We  thall  thee,"  repeated  Joseph.  Then  fixing  me  with  his 
eye,  like  the  Ancient  Mariner,  he  added,  "  He'th  got  on  Nolly's 
jacket,  and  Nolly's  towthers,  and  Nolly's  wethcoat " 

"Yes,  Miss  Lossie,  please,"  said  I.  "And  they  fit  exactly. 
And  Mother  said  I  couldn't  be  too  grateful,  and  I'm  not.  Please 
thank  you  so  much!"  I  saw  I  had  said  something  wrong,  as  they 
all  laughed,  and  I  suppose  I  turned  red.  But  Miss  Lossie  set  it 
to  rights,  saying,  "  Never  mind !  You're  a  dear  little  chap,  and 
as  for  my  Joey,  he's  dear,  but  his  manners  are  awful.  Let's  see 
the  Books."  I  exhibited  my  new  books.  And  Miss  Vi,  who  hadn't 
condescended  to  take  any  notice  of  me,  remarked,  "  I  suppose 
you  don't  suppose  the  child  understands  Latin  Exercise  Books  ? " 

"  Of  course  he  doesn't,  Vi  dear,"  said  Lossie.  "  But  he's  going 
to.  Aren't  you,  Joey?" 

"If,"  said  Miss  Violet,  "you're  going  to  go  on  calling  both 
those  boys  Joey,  I  shall  soon  be  in  a  Lunatic  Asylum." 

"Very  well,  Vi  darling!  I'll  take  pity  on  the  other  Lunatics, 
and  call  one  Joe  and  the  other  Joey.  Don't  be  miffy,  dear ! " 

And  Miss  Violet  (being  also  kissed)  was  mollified  and  settled 
down  to  a  work  of  fiction  with  the  remark,  "But  it  is  trying, 
Lossie  dear,  and  you  know  it."  Perhaps  the  relations  of  these  two 
sisters  to  one  another  might  be  described  as  continual  sparring 
with  very  soft  gloves.  There  certainly  was  no  ill  will,  as  between 
them.  But  I  was  not  popular  with  Violet. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Lossie.  "Now  we  start  fair.  You're 
Joe,  and  Joey's  Joey."  But  Joey  said,  "I  wanth  to  be  Joe,  and 


92  JOSEPH   VANCE 

the  Boy  Joey,"  and  Lossie  replied,  "  Just  as  you  please,  only 
that  way  you  shan't  have  another  piece  of  Cake." — "  Then  anuvver 
peeth  of  Cake,"  said  Joey,  and  conceded  the  point. 

"Now,  Joe  dear,"  said  Lossie.  "You  and  me  can  do  Latin 
Exercises  in  peace." 

I  wish  all  my  Latin  Exercises  could  have  heen  done  like  that 
one,  with  an  arm  round  me  whose  hand  pinched  and  patted  my 
cheek,  and  then  went  further  round  to  adjust  that  rebellious 
lock  of  hair. 

"I  know  all  about  this,"  said  Lossie.  "Because  I  did  it  all 
with  Nolly  a  year  and  a  half  ago.  Sum — es — est,  sumus — estis — 
sunt.  Nolly  wasn't  at  all  a  dab  at  it,  and  I  had  to  help  him. 
We  translated  all  the  English  sentences  into  Latin  as  far  as — 
as  far  as  something  about  the  Decemvirs." 

I  was  just  going  to  say  that  I  had  come  across  that  august 
body  while  inspecting  the  book  outside,  while  the  Visitors  faded 
away,  when  it  became  clear  that  Aunt  Izzy  was  making  a  remark. 

"We  really  must  remember  to  call  on  them,"  she  said.  "It's 
six  months  ago,  and  they  are  going  to  Torquay  for  the  winter. 
Do  remember,  please,  Violet " 

"But,  Aunty  dear,  you  can't  call  on  them.  They're  Ancient 
Romans  and  dead  and  buried  long  ago." 

"  I  can't  hear  what  you  say,  Lossie,"  said  Miss  Izzy.  "  I  never 
can.  You  speak  so  fast!  But  I  know  the  Miss  Hennekers  are 
going  to  Torquay,  and  it  would  look  so,  if  we  never  returned 
their  visit!" 

"  We  didn't  say  Miss  Hennekers — we  said  Decemvirs."  And 
Vi  had  to  shout  close  to  her  Aunt,  who  replied,  "  Well,  but  7  said 
Miss  Hennekers."  And  Decemvirs  had  to  be  written  on  a  piece 
of  paper,  and  explained  as  being  some  Latin  nonsense  in  an 
exercise  book  of  Mr.  Vance's  little  boy.  I  felt  hurt  at  the 
Decemvirs  cutting  so  poor  a  figure,  having  acquired  as  it  were 
a  vested  interest  in  them.  But  I  was  consoled  by  the  allusion  to 
my  Father  as  an  Established  Person.  Indeed,  it  became  clear  to 
me  in  the  course  of  this  visit  that  he  had  acquired  great  kudos 
by  his  address  in  putting  the  drains  in  their  proper  places,  and 
removing  them  from  daily  conversation.  As  Miss  Violet  said,  at 
any  rate  now  it  wasn't  drains,  drains,  drains  all  day  long! 

"Never  mind  them,  Joe,"  said  Lossie.  "We  shall  never  get 
half  an  exercise  done  at  this  rate.  Here's  Miss  Shackleworth. 
Miss  Shackleworth  knows  Latin,  and  will  tell  us  what  '  Caesar 
Gallos  vincit'  is " 

Miss  Shackleworth  was  the  governess  who  had  neuralgia,  and 


JOSEPH  VANCE  96 

she  was  equal  to  the  occasion ;  but  when  Lossie  read, — "  TPharetra 
caret  sagittas — sagittis?' — what's  pharetra?"  she  said,  "No, 
Miss  Lossie,  I  am  not  going  to  show  off."  I  have  often  been 
reminded  of  this  discretion  of  Miss  Shackleworth  when  gentle- 
men have  been  cruelly  asked  by  ladies  to  translate  for  them  Latin 
inscriptions,  say  for  instance  modern  Latin  on  pedestals  of 
Statues,  or  tombstones.  They  have  been  so  unwilling  to  show  off. 

"Well  then,  Joe,  never  mind!  We'll  do  without  pharetra. 
You'll  be  able  to  tell  me  to-morrow." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  I.  "  Oy'll  find  out.  Oy'll  be  sure  to.  And 
come  to  tell  you  to-morrow."  For  I  really  believed  Miss  Lossie 
wanted  to  know  the  meaning  of  pharetra. 

"There's  that  child  oying  again,"  interposed  Violet  from  her 
abstraction  over  the  book.  "  I  think  you  might  try  to  make  him 
say  7,  like  a  Christian." 

"Now,  Joe,  you  hear  what  you've  got  to  say."  Thus  Lossie; 
and  I,  having  misunderstood,  repeated  after  Violet,  "  Miss  Violet 
loikes  a  Christian."  Then  Aunt  Izzy  wanted  to  know  what  every 
one  was  laughing  at.  And  what  the  difficulties  of  explanation 
were  I  leave  you  to  imagine ! 

In  the  middle  Lossie  took  me  away  to  see  a  large  picture  of 
Rome,  where  the  people  spoke  Latin.  Joey  accompanied  us  about 
the  house,  and  I  was  such  a  happy  little  boy,  and  I  think  Miss 
Lossie  liked  it. 

And  now  it  is  all  so  long  ago  that  it  is  little  over  twenty  times 
as  long  that  folk  still  spoke  Latin  in  old  Rome ! 

In  looking  back  over  any  past  there  is  always  some  sad  note  in 
the  harmony,  some  black  thread  in  the  weft,  that  one  did  not 
notice  at  the  time.  Now  that  I  look  back  on  Poplar  Villa,  with 
the  help  of  Lossie's  letters  and  my  own  old  age,  always  the 
reviver  of  early  memories,  I  see  this  black  thread — then  unsus- 
pected, now  plain.  Lossie  spoiled  Joey.  With  another  child  the 
conscientious  effort  she  made  not  to  spoil  him  might  have  been 
enough.  But  I  see  now  that  discipline  was  wanted,  and  Joey 
never  had  it.  What  came  about  was  perhaps  not  all  to  be  laid 
at  his  door.  Let  us  blame  him  as  little  as  possible ! 


CHAPTER  XII 

SOMEWHAT  OF  THE  SACRED  CULT  OF  GENTLE- 
MAN. HOW  JOE  WAS  PROMOTED  TO  A  REAL  PUBLIC  SCHOOL,  AND  HIS 
IMPRESSIONS  OF  IT. 

I  REMEMBER,  on  the  whole,  very  little  of  my  schooldays,  either  at 
Mr.  Penguin's  or,  later  on,  at  St.  Withold's  at  Helstaple,  where  Dr. 
Thorpe  held  a  Life-Governorship  and  was  able  (backed  by  a  suc- 
cessful pass-examination  on  my  part)  to  get  me  a  presentation. 
All  schoolboys'  experiences  are  very  much  alike,  and  unless  I  were 
to  invent  incidents  I  could  tell  very  little  about  my  own  schools 
that  you  have  not  read  before.  Perhaps  I  remember  most  of 
Mr.  Penguin's.  This  gentleman  may  have  been  what  his  scholars 
alleged,  an  Awful  Old  Ass,  but  he  had  one  high  merit,  that  of 
letting  his  boys  get  out  of  his  sight  as  little  as  possible.  This 
minimized  the  opportunities  for  Diabolism  which  the  Schoolboy 
regards  or  regarded  as  his  birthright,  and  which  is  or  was  a 
sacred  tradition  in  our  really  respectable  old  schools.  I  did  not 
become  acquainted  with  this  fact  until  I  was  initiated  into  the 
mysteries  of  St.  Withold's. 

Perhaps  the  recollection  left  in  his  mind  of  any  boy's  school- 
days is  in  the  inverse  proportion  of  the  amount  of  his  attention 
to  his  lessons;  and  maybe  that  is  why  I  remember  so  little  of 
mine!  For  no  sooner  was  I  given  books  and  tasks  than  I  very 
nearly  neglected  healthful  play  and  plunged  straight  into  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge.  I  was  a  perfect  Helluo  librorum,  even 
when  the  books  were  exercise  books  and  called  upon  me  to  trans- 
late unconnected  statements  into  Latin ;  as  for  instance, — The  Cruel 
Slave-dealer  anticipates  the  Scarcity — The  Circumstance  occurs-to 
the  Brother-in-law — The  Citizen  encourages  the  Enthusiast — and 
so  forth!  I  am  not  quite  sure  these  are  exact,  but 
they  are  not  far  out.  I  know  I  translated  large  quantities  of 
them  at  a  great  rate  with  the  assistance  of  appropriate  vocab- 
ularies at  the  foot  of  each  exercise.  But  I  certainly  felt  a  new 
interest  in  Literature  when  I  came  to  all  Gaul  being  divided  into 
three  parts,  and  was  actually  "doing"  Caesar.  As  for  Euclid,  I 
simply  read  Euclid  as  Miss  Violet  read  Novels.  I  was,  in  fact, 

94 


JOSEPH  VANCE  95 

to  borrow  my  Father's  expression  when  I  started  out  with  him  to 
keep  him  away  from  the  Roebuck,  a  Young  Nipper  that  asked 
questions  as  if  I  was  a  blooming  grandmother,  and  that  usually 
succeeded  in  getting  his  questions  answered. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  term  I  was  doing  quite  a  lucrative  trade 
in  other  boys'  lessons.  I  always  did  Nolly  Thorpe's  for  nothing, 
for  love  of  Miss  Lossie,  and  must  have  been  one  cause  of  Nolly's 
extreme  backwardness.  But  when  an  unprepared  boy  came  to  me 
just  ten  minutes  before  class-time  with,  "  I  say,  little  Vance,  don't 
be  an  Ass,  but  tell  me  what's  The  Climate  of  Africa  Enervates 
the  Centurion  " ;  or,  "  I  say,  little  Vance,  don't  be  an  Ass,  but  tell 
me  what's  left  when  you  divide  this  by  twenty-seven,"  I  usually 
demanded  a  raised  puff  with  red  in  the  middle  in  return  for  the 
information  asked  for.  I  can't  say  I  don't  remember  an  applica- 
tion without  the  exordium  above  cited,  but  it  was  at  any  rate  a 
very  favourite  form  of  speech. 

I  cannot  describe  the  joy  and  pride  with  which,  after  my  visit 
last  described  at  Poplar  Villa,  I  carried  home  my  new  class- 
books  in  their  new  strap  and  showed  them  to  my  Mother.  I  can 
remember  the  smell  of  the  new  binding,  and  the  way  the  cut 
leaves  stuck  together,  and  the  name  in  them  which  Dr.  Thorpe 
(as  their  donor)  had  written  for  me  on  the  shiny  fly-leaves.  A 
short  time  ago  I  turned  over  some  old  books  I  found  in  a  bundle, 
and  my  eye  was  caught  by  my  own  name  in  Dr.  Thorpe's  writing 
on  a  fly-leaf  of  a  coverless  book.  It  was  Croker's  Latin  Exercises 
for  Beginners,  and  the  thought  that  came  (or  thought  of  coming) 
first  into  my  mind  was  that  surely  that  was  My  New  Latin  Book — 
I  still  regarded  it  as  per  se  new,  and  only  accidentally  old  through 
lapse  of  years.  But  the  ink-splutter  caught  my  eyes,  and  I  recol- 
lected how  black  and  shiny  it  looked  when  it  was  new. 

And  it  was  that  very  book  I  carried  home,  and  that  made  my 
Mother  say,  "Well — there  now,  Joey — to  think  of  that!  What 
your  Eather  always  do  call  you — a  young  Beginner!  And  only 
to  think  it's  Latin  you're  going  to  begin!  Why,  you'll  be  begin- 
ning Erench  next ! " 

"  Oy'm  beginning  Erench  too !  Look  here ! "  said  I,  and  pro- 
duced My  New  French  Book.  And  my  Father,  who  was  waver- 
ing between  satisfaction  at  my  prospects  and  a  desire  to  throw 
doubts  on  the  advantages  of  Education,  said,  "  Two  jobs  on  hand 
the  Nipper  has!  Both  foring.  Well!  When  I  was  a  young  man 
there  warn't  all  this  here  larnin'.  We  had  to  do  without  it,  and 
we  did  without  it." — My  Mother  said  my  Father  was  no  such 
great  shakes  to  boast  on  when  all  was  said  and  done.  And  my 


96  JOSEPH   VANCE 

Father  said  he'd  have  another  pipe  anyhow,  eddication  or  no !  His 
good  humour  may  have  been  the  result  of  his  satisfaction  about 
myself,  or  because  Dr.  Thorpe  had  just  paid  his  account  in  full 
without  complaint  or  deduction.  Or  it  may  have  been  because 
he  had  another  job.  For  it  soon  became  so  very  common  for  my 
Father  to  have  another  job,  that  the  neighbourhood  began  to  say 
Vance  was  very  close  with  his  money,  it  being  assumed  that  he 
made  large  profits.  But  the  truth  was  that  Vance,  swayed  in 
some  way  by  the  Magic  Board,  was  going  almost  without  money 
in  order  to  get  himself  suspected  of  having  a  great  deal.  He 
spent  the  proceeds  of  each  job  in  making  the  next  job  believe  he 
was  handling  Capital,  and  succeeded  to  admiration.  Of  course 
he  never  did  anything  himself,  except  measure.  I  don't  believe 
he  ever  touched  a  trowel  or  a  spade  after  that  day  at  Poplar  Villa. 
The  young  man  William,  or  Villiam,  caught  on,  and  showed 
always  a  touching  faith  in  the  reality  of  his  employer.  He  had  a 
happy  faculty  of  communicating  this  to  others;  speaking  with 
conviction  in  Public-House  Bars  of  Vance's  Job  over  acrost 
yander,  and  suborning  any  number  'of  confiding  Navigators  when 
wanted.  A  single  excess  of  the  Roebuck  sort,  leading  to  a  rash 
wager  on  homing  pigeons,  or  to  one  of  his  payments  being  put 
upon  a  horse,  and  never  coming  off,  might  have  led  (as  my 
Mother  once  said  to  Mrs.  Packles)  to  my  Father's  prospects  being 
shipwrecked  in  the  bud.  But  I  do  believe  the  little  man  with  the 
truck  was  a  gnome,  and  that  the  Board  had  Cabalistic  properties. 
Anyhow,  as  we  shall  see  in  due  course,  the  bud  was  properly 
navigated — but  perhaps  I  had  better  not  try  to  complete  the 
mixed  metaphor.  I  will  go  back  to  Penguin's. 

It  was  at  Penguin's  that  I  first  became  aware  of  the  Classes  and 
the  Masses.  For  Nolly  Thorpe,  who  was  charged  to  introduce  me 
among  his  schoolmates,  felt  it  incumbent  on  him  (in  a  school 
where  the  boarders  wore  real  hats  to  go  to  church)  to  indicate  my 
extraction  truthfully.  Perhaps  he  might  have  softened  it.  He 
might  have  said  my  Father  was  a  tradesman  whom  his  Governor 
employed.  Or  he  might  have  suggested  that  my  parents  were 
Reduced,  and  had  been  unable  to  have  me  taught  to  aspirate  my 
H's.  But  to  say,  even  in  confidence,  to  other  boys  that  I  was  only 
a  Little  Blackguard  out  of  the  Street  was,  I  think,  harsh.  I  did 
not  feel  it  so  at  the  time,  for  when  I  was  told  that  it  was  un- 
doubtedly true  because  Thorpe  had  told  Pott's  big  brother  so,  I 
merely  remarked  that  I  could  lick  Pott's  big  brother  and  went  on 
writing  out  my  informant's  Cffisar  for  him. 

If  you  feel  inclined  to  blame  Nolly  and  to  say  he  must  have 


JOSEPH   VANCE  97 

been  an  odious  boy,  you  will  be  wrong.  He  was  not  odious  at 
all.  He  only  reflected  the  Gentleman-Cult  of  his  school.  I  for 
one  have  always  thought  leniently  of  this  cult.  For  as  long  as  an 
artificial  stimulus  is  necessary  to  keep  boys  (and  men)  out  of 
the  gutter,  will  it  not  serve  as  well  as  another  ?  And  it  does  serve 
its  turn.  Which  of  us  has  not  seen,  at  one  time  or  another  in 
his  life,  some  depraved  beast,  some  filthy  abortion  of  imbecility 
and  inhumanity,  stung  to  common  decency,  if  only  for  a  moment, 
by  being  reminded  that  he  is  a  Gentleman? 

Clearly  the  boys  (it  may  be  said)  at  Penguin's  were  not  real 
Gentlemen's  sons;  because  no  real  ones  would  talk  of  any  boy  as  a 
Little  Blackguard  out  of  the  Street.  But  they  did,  and  I  never 
heard  any  doubt  thrown  on  the  paternity  of  the  pupils.  And  I 
got  to  be  spoken  of  as  The  Little  Blackguard  rather  affectionately 
than  otherwise,  and  after  a  few  terms  my  rather  anomalous  posi- 
tion was  such  that  it  was  not  uncommon  to  hear  "  Well — let's  ask 
the  Little  Blackguard  "  as  the  final  conclusion  of  some  dispute  on 
a  point  of  Scholarship.  Of  course  there  was  an  intermediate 
regime  before  this  happy  state  of  things  was  arrived  at,  in  which 
several  deadly  combats  occurred.  But  it  was  not  a  long  one,  and 
my  position  of  intellectual  superiority  once  established  remained 
unquestioned  until  I  left  Penguin's  for  Helstaple. 

St.  Withold's  at  Helstaple  is  well  known,  not  only  as  a  school 
that  turns  out  all  its  scholars  Men  and  Gentlemen,  and  qualifies 
them  to  bear  their  part  in  the  battle  of  Life,  with  a  due  regard 
to  the  traditions  of  the  class  they  belong  to,  but  as  a  most  interest- 
ing example  of  Late  Decorated  and  Early  Perpendicular.  For  it 
has  a  Late  Decorated  Cloister  and  an  Early  Perpendicular  Dining 
Hall,  of  the  former  of  which  as  much  remains  as  has  survived  its 
judicious  restoration  thirty  years  since.  Of  the  latter  it  may  be 
said  that  nothing  remains,  in  the  most  aggressive  sense  of  the 
words,  for  there  is  not  a  new  stone  but  is  clamorous  in  its  asser- 
tion that  it  has  replaced  an  old  one,  and  that  it  is  quite  satisfied 
with  itself  and  confident  that  it  will  not  be  destroyed  by  fire  like 
its  predecessor.  There  is  nothing  that  grates  on  one's  memory  of 
an  old  building,  familiar  in  early  years,  like  the  intrusive  clean- 
ness and  impertinent  accuracies  of  its  substitute.  For  in  spite  of 
its  drawbacks,  I  loved  the  old  place!  I  loved  the  historical  as- 
sociation of  the  old  Benedictine  Priory,  and  was  soon  able  to 
people  it  in  imagination  with  fanciful  individualities  bearing  the 
names  to  be  found  in  its  Chronicles.  One  I  particularly  remem- 
ber as  an  idea  having  nearly  the  force  of  a  sensation.  He  was 
Prior  Anselm,  and  he  used  to  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  on  the 


98  JOSEPH  VANCE 

river-walk  among  the  willows  and  alders,  watching  the  trout  leap 
and  the  water-spiders  wait  for  refreshments  with  one  pair  of  eyes 
below  looking  for  a  bite,  and  another  pair  above  on  the  lookout 
for  a  possible  biter.  Prior  Anselm  was  rather  like  them  as  he 
looked  down  at  the  trout  that  were  one  day  to  come  to  table,  and 
at  the  same  time  kept  fixed  on  Heaven  an  eye  to  contingencies. 
If  I  were  suddenly  asked  if  I  ever  really  saw  the  Ghost  of  Anselm 
I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  my  denial  would  be  unhesitating.  I 
should  waver  half  a  second.  For  as  ships  seen  on  opposite  offings, 
when  we  are  between  them,  become  two  ships  on  one  offing  when 
our  steamer  leaves  them  becalmed  half-an-hour's  journey  behind, 
so  does  the  long  gap  between  now  and  St.  Withold's  make  Prior 
Anselm  nearly  as  real  to  me  as  the  Rev.  Dr.  Boyce  Lasher,  who 
was  the  Principal  in  my  time. 

The  effect  that  all  men's  schooldays  seem  to  have  on  them  is 
such  that  I  am  no  way  surprised  at  myself  when  I  catch  it  saying 
to  itself,  something  about  the  dear  old  place,  and  how  jolly  it  was 
in  the  water-meadows,  and  what  fun  we  had  in  the  dormitories 
over  secret  nocturnal  feasts,  and  paper  chases  through  the  woods, 
and  cricket  and  football  and  so  on  and  so  on — Oh  dear,  yes!  of 
course  it  was  a  dear  old  place,  and  even  Old  Lasher,  you  know, 
all  we  boys  loved  him,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Because,  you  see,  that  time  is  gone  and  can  never  come  again. 
And  none  who  were  not  there  can  gainsay  us.  We  will  have  it 
so!  It  was  a  dear  old  place,  and  there's  an  end  on't! 

All  the  same  it  might  have  been  a  dearer  old  place  still  if  none 
of  the  boys  had  been  Devils  Incarnate.  Whether  it  was  really 
necessary  as  a  foundation  for  subsequent  Gentility  that  a  boy 
should  inflict  nameless  tortures  in  cold  blood  on  one  younger 
and  weaker  than  himself  I  do  not  know,  because  it  is  a  point  that 
depends  upon  its  adjudicator's  standard  of  gentility.  I  was,  with- 
out question,  by  extraction  (and  very  imperfect  extraction)  a 
Little  Blackguard  out  of  the  Street,  and  I  knew  no  devilries  worse 
than  those  of  the  Beer-Maggot  class  from  which  I  sprang.  There 
were  plenty,  for  a  race  that  lives  in  beer  and  on  beer,  and  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  is  beer  as  the  cheese-maggot  is  cheese,  can- 
not be  expected  to  have  a  high  ideal.  But  they  were  rather  to  be 
described  as  rough  brutality  than  diabolism.  My  Father's  row 
with  Mr.  Gunn  was  a  brutal  one  enough ;  but  young  as  I  was,  and 
nigh  terrified  to  death,  there  was  nothing  in  it  to  my  thinking 
half  so  horrible  as  the  acts  of  tyranny  and  cruelty  to  young  boys 
that  made  up  part  of  the  daily  life  at  St.  Withold's.  Indeed,  if 
I  had  to  choose  whether  I  would  again  go  through  the  horrors  of 


JOSEPH  VANCE  99 

that  afternoon,  or  witness  the  obvious  satisfaction  of  the  rev. 
Principal  when  he  had  a  good  crop  of  victims  for  the  birch,  I 
should  take  the  former.  Yet  the  worthy  Doctor's  enjoyment  of  a 
luxury  which  he  and  his  forbears  had  indulged  in  for  nearly  three 
centuries  was  angelic  by  comparison  with  what  went  on  among 
the  boys  themselves.  I  doubt,  however,  whether,  if  an  examina- 
tion could  be  made  of  the  subsequent  lives  of  the  boys  of  my 
time,  it  would  be  found  that  the  ones  who  acquitted  themselves 
best  either  as  Men  or  "  Gentlemen  "  were  also  the  ones  who  were 
the  most  vigorous  exponents  of  the  traditions  of  St.  Withold. 
There  ought  to  be  an  approximate  proportion  between  the  extent 
of  adoption  of  a  system  good  in  itself,  and  its  beneficial  effect 
upon  the  person  who  has  adopted  it.  I  admit  that  to  do  justice 
to  it  we  ought  to  be  able  to  accumulate  a  large  number  of 
instances.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  take  the  case  of  the  worst 
tormentor  in  my  recollection,  and  put  it  down  to  St.  Withold 
that  he  is  now  a  convict;  or  that  another  boy  who  fought  him  in 
the  cause  of  a  lesser  victim  in  defiance  of  school  tradition — and 
was  beaten  badly,  for  justice  is  not  always  retributive — owed  his 
formation  of  character  in  any  degree  to  the  Saint.  My  own  im- 
pression of  this  last  boy  is  that  had  he  never  breathed  the  bracing 
atmosphere  of  Helstaple,  but  been  brought  up  as  a  milksop  at 
home,  he  would  have  died  exactly  as  he  did  in  the  Crimea  five  years 
later,  refusing  a  nip  of  brandy  as  he  lay  dying.  "  I'm  done  for," 
said  he,  "don't  waste  it  on  me — give  it  to  that  chap !"  It  was  the 
ruling  passion  strong  in  death,  and  a  wounded  Russian  got  the 
benefit  of  it. 

This  is  only  a  note  by  the  way,  to  supply  a  reason  why  I  do 
not  dwell  on  my  school  experiences.  I  have  no  doubt  they  manage 
these  things  better  now.  Probably  the  fire  which  originated  at 
night  in  a  Dormitory  close  to  the  school-buildings  opened  the  eyes 
of  the  governing  body.  For  though  it  did  not  get  into  the  news- 
papers it  was  whispered  about  that  the  first  cause  of  the  outbreak 
was  a  bottle  of  turpentine  which  v.ras  being  used,  or  proposed  to 
be  used,  in  the  pickling  of  an  unpopular  boy  by  his  fellows.  You 
scratch  yourself  and  rub  in  turpentine  and  feel  what  it  feels  like! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOW  JOE  RETURNED  FROM  ST.  WITHOLD,  BUT  WAS  AFFLICTED  BY  HIS 
HAT.  BUT  WAS  RELIEVED.  MORE  OF  HIS  FATHER'S  LEAPS  UP  IN 
LIFE.  JOE'S  RETICENCE. 

THE  end  of  the  first  term  at  Hel  staple  was  an  embarrassing 
time  for  me.  For  glad  as  I  was  to  get  away  from  the  process  of 
being  shaped  as  a  Man  and  a  Gentleman,  I  was  miserably  con- 
scious that  the  change  I  was  supposed  to  be  undergoing  was  sup- 
posed also  to  be  a  growing  disfranchisement  of  my  Father  and 
Mother;  a  sort  of  constantly  increasing  discount  of  their  claims 
to  guardianship.  Of  course  Dr.  Thorpe  never  dreamed  of  the 
existence  of  such  a  feeling  on  my  part,  or  it  would  have  grieved 
him  bitterly.  In  fact,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  in  his  estima- 
tion of  the  Respectability  question,  Dr.  Thorpe  was  Early  English 
or  even  Norman,  and  had  nothing  of  Queen  Anne  about  him. 

My  clothes  reproached  me  all  the  way  up  in  the  stage-coach, 
and  on  the  railway,  saying  in  chorus,  "  You  are  going  to  show 
yourself  in  us,  not  only  to  your  Father  and  Mother,  but  you  will 
be  detected  sneaking  in  to  change  us  by  Mrs.  Packles  and  Porky 
Owls,  and  they  will  denounce  you  to  their  circle  as  a  stuck-upper, 
and  will  give  reasons  from  their  own  experience  why  a  presump- 
tuous departure  from  that  circle  will  never  lead  to  good.  They 
will  ascribe  to  you  the  haughty  spirit  that  goes  before  a  fall." 
And  the  miserable  little  shiny  genteel  hat  that  was  damning  me 
in  my  own  eyes  as  an  impostor  added  on  its  own  account  the  un- 
deserved and  unnecessary  sting,  "You  know  your  Father  never 
had  a  hat  like  me/" 

You  may  fancy,  then,  what  a  relief  it  was  to  find  on  my  return 
to  Stallwood's  Cottages  that  my  Father  had  actually  invested  in 
a  Hat! 

This  Hat  exercised,  in  conjunction  with  the  Magic  Board,  so 
powerful  an  influence  on  my  Father's  after  life,  that  it  is  not  to 
be  dismissed  with  a  mere  announcement.  It  was  the  first  thing 
I  saw  when  I  emerged  from  the  embrace  in  which  my  Mother  and 
I  extinguished  sight  and  speech,  each  on  each,  as  I  rushed  into 

100 


JOSEPH  VANCE  101 

the  little  front  room  that  Saturday  in  April ;  or  rather  that  Easter 
Sunday  morning,  for  I  did  not  get  home  till  after  twelve  at  night. 
Well  for  me,  for  the  populace  had  gone  to  bed  at  the  closing  of 
the  Koebuck,  and  I  had  escaped  the  derision  of  mankind! 

"  Yes,  my  darling  dearest  Boy,"  said  my  Mother,  "  your  Father 
likewise.  And  he  went  to  eighteen  shillings  by  reason  of  Moral 
Influence,  and  well  worth  it  at  the  money  he  said.  And  it's  that 
effective  even  Packles's  niece's  husband  from  Clapham  says  Sir, 
being  found  another  job  than  Henderson's,  and  equally  satis- 
factory. But  yours  isn't  hurt  though  the  corner  just  rubbed — 
so  pick  it  up  off  the  floor,  and  hang  it  on  the  other  peg  for  Father 
to  see  when  he  comes.  Like  that !  And  here  he  is." 

A  great  shout  of  joy  and  a  similar  greeting  for  my  Father 
made  him  remark  that  the  Nipper  was  the  Nipper  still  for  all  his 
eddication.  I  felt  that  my  character  was  being  undermined  by 
St.  Withold  perhaps,  and  that  I  might  have  to  make  a  resolute 
stand  against  him. 

"Two  'ats  on  two  pegs,"  continued  my  Father.  "It's  a  mercy 
we  ain't  Dooks  with  corrow -knights,  a-swellin'  of  it  about! 
What  ever  would  become  of  your  poor  Mother,  hay,  Joey?  Now 
I  lay  you've  got  a  good  twist  for  supper  arter  all  that  stage-coach 
and  railwayin',  and  while  you're  a-eatin'  of  it  you  can  just  tell  me 
and  Mother  all  you've  been  a-larnin'  at  this  here  school." 

I  had  the  twist  for  supper,  but  was  reserved  about  the  school; 
being,  in  fact,  resolved  to  keep  the  miseries  I  had  witnessed  and 
endured  to  myself  as  much  as  possible.  Even  in  the  first  term 
the  glorious  traditions  of  the  place  had  affected  me,  and  I  was 
already  under  the  influence  of  Immemorial  Usage.  Besides,  I  had 
the  resource  of  only  referring  to  the  events  of  the  past  week  just 
before  breaking  up,  when,  in  accordance  with  an  ancient  precedent, 
the  functions  of  the  birch-rod  were  suspended;  and  the  big  boys, 
softened  to  an  artificial  spirit  of  mercy,  allowed  the  little  boys 
an  unwonted  freedom  from  tyranny,  and  even  had  the  brazen 
impudence  to  pose  as  their  benefactors!  So  by  referring  only  to 
this  past  week,  which  was  easy,  I  soothed  any  suspicions  on  my 
parents'  part,  if  such  existed,  about  the  sort  of  treatment  I  and 
others  experienced  at  the  hands  of  St.  Withold.  Moreover,  in 
spite  of  their  enquiries  about  my  school-life,  as  I  sat  down  to  a 
large  chump-chop  and  potatoes  (which  I  welcomed  in  spite  of  the 
late  hour),  their  interest  had  flagged  before  I  got  to  the  pudding. 
In  this  they  were  not  unlike  the  rest  of  their  species,  which  when 
I  begin  telling  it  anything  usually  yawns  in  my  face  before  the 
end  of  the  first  chapter.  Have  you  not  yourself  been  interrupted 


102  JOSEPH   VANCE 

again  and  again  in  your  narrative  of  your  symptoms  by  your 
friend's  anxiety  to  give  details  of  his  own;  or  indeed  (if  he  was 
Mrs.  Packles)  to  lay  claim  to  afflictions  precisely  identical  but  of 
greater  severity?  I  have  been  assured  by  artists  that  one  serious 
nuisance  of  their  lives  is  the  perfect  stranger's  soul-absorbing 
interest  in  their  work;  who,  having  on  this  pretext  wedged  him- 
self into  their  Studio,  sits  with  his  back  to  their  pictures  and 
talks  about  his  own. 

So  that,  by  the  time  I  had  recorded  how  I  was  at  the  head  of 
all  my  classes,  which  was  the  case;  and  how  the  ice  had  given 
way  on  the  lake  and  let  six  boys  through,  who  were  none  of  them 
drowned,  but  two  were  not  expected  to  recover;  and  how  Perkins 
tertius  was  put  out  of  the  window  to  go  and  buy  things  in  the 
town  after  hours,  and  was  caught  coming  back,  but  let  off  because 
of  the  holidays;  and  how  the  said  Perkins's  brother,  Perkins 
secundus,  was  my  particular  friend,  only  his  father  was  an 
Undertaker  and  nobody  knew  it  except  me, — I  was  beginning 
to  feel  that  my  listeners  were  on  the  lookout  to  take  their 
turn. 

The  most  of  my  communication  was,  however,  making  my 
Father  understand  the  expressions  tertius  and  secundus,  he  being 
determined  to  make  a  parade  of  his  want  of  scholarship.  As  he 
pointed  out,  had  he  received  a  University  Education  at  Oxford 
College,  he  would  have  been  able  to  match  his  knowledge  of  these 
terms  against  any  man  in  England.  There  was  some  affectation 
in  this  as  he  certainly  could  have  guessed  their  meaning  from 
the  context.  His  knowledge  of  human  nature,  however,  supplied 
him  with  a  clue  to  little  Perkins's  impunity. — "  O'  coorse  his 
Mother  would  have  found  it  out  within  a  week,  if  he'd  been 
properly  whopped,  in  the  manner  of  speaking." — I  thought  my 
Father  very  sharp,  it  never  having  occurred  to  me  that  conceal- 
ment from  the  parents  of  the  pupils  of  St.  Withold  was  an  essen- 
tial part  of  the  Saint's  system.  He  went  on  to  indicate  what  he 
himself  would  do  if  entrusted  with  the  care  of  four  hundred  pupils 
of  all  ages. — "  I  should  wallop  'em  all  black  and  blue  on  the  first 
day  of  the  month,  and  that  'd  make  'em  think." 

"You  know  you'd  just  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  Vance  dear," 
said  my  Mother,  "  it  being  well  known  that  your  f ailin'  is  intox- 
icatin'  stimulants,  except  lately  God  be  praised,  but  never  'arsh- 
ness  to  youth,  and  Joey  there  to  witness  to  it." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  my  Father.  "In  coorse  you  know 
best.  I  should  stuff  and  pamper  their  stummicks  to  bustin',  and 
let  'em  lie  abed  all  day.  But  you  ain't  a-tellin'  this  poor  little 


JOSEPH  VANCE  103 

Joseph  about  the  'ome  of  his  birth — you'd  better,  or  he'll  be 
asleep." 

This  waked  me  up,  for  indeed  my  long  journey  and  the  chump- 
chop  and  the  reaction  were  making  me  a  drowsy  though  happy 
boy;  and  I  begged  to  know  at  once  and  not  wait  till  to-morrow. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  then,"  said  my  Mother,  "  we're  going  away  out 
of  this  house  to  a  new  one — this  very  house  I  married  your 
Father  into  and  the  rent  paid  punctual  ever  since!  Fifteen  years 
next  Michaelmas.  And  all  five  of  you  born  here,  and  four  buried 
and  gone  to  glory,  Mr.  Capstick  hopes.  Your  elder  sister  Eliza- 
beth Ann  after  her  great-aunt  and  died  in  teething.  And  your 
younger  sister  Jane  in  the  fever,  and  your  little  brothers  Chris- 
topher and  Frederick  also  in  teething.  And  yourself,  my  dear, 
Mrs.  Packles  and  all  the  neighbours  were  wrong  about,  sayin'  I 
never  could  possibly  rear  you,  and  there  you  are  at  the  top  of  all 
your  classes,  and  them  to  say  so!  And  us  to  go  away  and  leave 
the  old  cottage  and  go  and  live  in  a  Residence  and  a  little  Orfice 
round  the  corner  with  a  brass  plate " 

My  Father  postponed  filling  a  pipe,  but  left  his  fingers  in  his 
tobacco  pouch  while  he  protested  against  this  brass  plate. 

"  Not  if  I  knows  it,  Mrs.  V.,"  said  he.  "  That  little  board  I 
bought  off  of  that  carackter  with  a  'and-cart,  by  name  Isbister, 
three  years  and  a  half  gone,  that's  enough  for  a  'umble  Builder 
like  me.  If  I  was  Coobittses,  that  might  be  another  soote  of 
clothes.  Bein'  what  I  am,  as  I  says  (follerin'  of  Capstick), 
Contentment  is  my  Lot,  and  let  us  pray  accordin' ! " 

"You  go  along,"  said  my  Mother.  "You  to  talk  like  that! 
And  that  'at  'angin'  on  that  peg  to  testify  contrairy.  Here's  Joey 
a'most  asleep " 

Joey  was,  and  was  soon  dreaming  of  a  respectable  Divine  witb 
small  eyes  and  large  teeth,  and  a  birch-rod. 

I  beg  you  will  note  particularly  the  indication  of  my  Father's 
growth  of  conviction  of  his  professional  status.  His  admission 
that  he  was  "  not  Cubitt's  "  contained  an  implication  that  he  was 
not  Cubitt's  in  some  sense  in  which  Packleses  laundry  for  in- 
stance was  not  "not  Cubitt's."  It  suggested  that  Europe  might 
be  divided  into  two  camps,  one  maintaining  that  he  was,  the  other 
that  he  was  not.  What  a  colossal  stride  in  three  years  and  a  half ! 
Also  observe  that  the  little  Orfice  round  the  corner  was  accepted 
as  a  sort  of  Builder's  birthright.  I  felt  an  intuitive  certainty 
that  such  an  Office  and  such  a  Hat  carried  with  them  Books  as  an 
inevitable  corollary,  and  an  Office  Clerk;  and  had  I  known  a  little 
more  than  I  did  then  of  Business,  I  should  have  been  able  to 


104  JOSEPH   VANCE 

predict  that  nothing  when  looked  for  would  ever  occur  in  the  first 
Book  consulted,  but  that  a  succession  of  references  would  be  neces- 
sary while  you  waited;  and  that  it  would,  in  short,  be  Double- 
Entry.  Certainly  that  little  Man  (whose  name,  it  seems,  my 
Father's  observant  eye  had  seen  somewhere  on  his  hand-cart)  was 
a  travelling  Magician,  and  my  Father  did  most  wisely  to  adhere  to 
the  Magic  Board. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN  UN-ACADEMICAL  SUNDAY  MORNING.  CONCERNING  HIS  FATHER'S 
NEW  HOUSE.  JOE'S  WALK  TO  POPLAR  VILLA:  BUT  NO  MISS  LOSSIE ! 
HE  TELLS  HIS  SCHOOL  EXPERIENCES.  ANTHROPOPHAGI.  HE  WILL 
FOLLOW  LOSSIE,  EVEN  TO  HAMPSTEAD. 

No  human  creature  can  be  happier  than  the  boy  who  wakes  at 
home,  on  the  morning  after  his  return  from  school  for  the  holi- 
days. Instead  of  being  dragged  away  from  unfinished  sleep  by 
an  unfeeling  bell,  a  dim  sense  that  a  benevolent  Angel  has  said 
that  you  had  better  have  your  sleep  out;  instead  of  immediate 
conciliation  of  a  tyrant  who  bullies  you  himself  as  a  fee  for  his 
protection  against  others,  a  right  to  wash  and  dress  yourself  in 
peace;  instead  of  a  possible  dose  of  filthy  medicine  before  break- 
fast whether  you  are  ill  or-no,  breakfast  itself;  instead  of  tutelary 
geniuses  whom  you  know  you  will  have  to  stave  off  or  evade  for  the 
rest  of  the  day,  parents  conscious  that  compensation  is  your  due, 
and  not  yet  reawakened  to  the  necessity  of  keeping  even  the  best 
of  Boys  in  check.  No  arrears  of  incompleted  tasks  or  imposi- 
tions, no  Prayers,  for  even  had  there  been  any  in  our  house  I 
should  have  been  too  late  for  them — in  short,  nothing  but  un- 
qualified home! 

I  remember  particularly  what  a  sweet  and  soothing  sound  the 
Sabbath  bells  had  for  me  on  that  delightful  April  morning,  when 
I  woke  very  late  indeed,  and  realized  from  their  difference  from 
the  Helstaple  peal  that  I  hadn't  got  to  go  to  church !  So  you  see 
my  Mother  let  me  have  my  sleep  out. 

"Likewise  your  Father  may  just  as  well  have  his,"  said  my 
Mother.  And  she  went  on  to  give  me  details  of  the  premises  and 
the  little  Orfice  round  the  corner. — "Ackchly  a  back  and  front 
drawing-room,  breakfast-room  level  with  the  kitchen,  three  large 
and  two  small  bedrooms,  commodious  kitchen  and  scullery,  at  the 
moderate  rental  of  forty-five  pounds  per  annum.  Only  whatever 
I  am  to  do  with  a  servant,  or  without  a  servant!  Your  Father 
says  I  must  learn  to  be  waited  on  like  my  betters,  but  it's  hard 
to  reconcile  myself  to  it  at  my  time  of  life,  after  all  these  years  of 

105 


106  JOSEPH  VANCE 

cooking  and  cleaning  up.  Not  but  what,"  added  my  Mother, 
with  a  touch  of  worldly  pride,  "there  have  been  servants  in  my 
family,  for  your  Great-Aunt  Elizabeth  Ann's  half-sister  Mrs. 
Barrell  had  an  establishment,  with  three,  and  a  man  to  do  the 
boots  and  odd  jobs.  I  remember  your  Great-Aunt  telling  my 
Mother  that  he  growled  dreadfully  in  the  kitchen,  and  shook  the 
house.  So  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to,  too! — As  your  Father  says, 
it's  only  habit,  and  we  must  all  get  accustomed.  But  it  don't 
seem  natural  to  leave  off  cleaning,  and  very  likely  a  girl  with 
followers,  and  a  cook  the  worse.  However,  my  dear,  I  mean  to  try, 
— as  becoming  to  your  Father's  position." 

What  a  happy  faculty  my  Mother  had  of  presenting  her  ideas 
in  lucid  fragments!  Even  I,  at  eleven,  could  realize  exactly  her 
apprehension  of  her  probable  difficulties  in  a  rise  in  life.  Would 
it  not  almost  be  better  to  hold  on  to  Stallwood's  Cottages  at  any 
cost?  My  Mother  anticipated  an  enquiry  that  was  coming  as 
soon  as  I  should  dispose  of  a  bite  of  toast  and  butter : — 

"  Why,  no,  Joey  darling,  bein'  there's  no  room  for  expansion  at 
Stallwood's  Cottages,  and  would  involve  business  premises  else- 
where, though  of  course  in  the  manner  of  speaking  a  heart-break 
to  leave  the  old  place — where,  indeed,  I  have  been  truly  happy, 
without  dissension  and  indeed  seldom  too  much  taken,  owing  as  I 
think  to  your  Father  being  held  out  of  his  employment  by  circum- 
stances for  which  I  blame  none  and  name  no  names.  Besides, 
there  is  in  the  rear  a  plot  of  land  with  separate  entrance  from  the 
side-road,  in  all  respects  suitable  for  the  erection  of  workshops. 
To  let  on  Building  Lease  for  ninety-nine  years  from  Lady-Day, 
of  which  your  Father  has  secured  the  refusal." 

Quotations  from  "  To  Let "  bills  seemed  to  work  naturally  and 
easily  into  my  Mother's  syntax.  I  recognized  their  source;  and 
as  to  the  justice  of  the  implication  that  my  Father  had  been  all 
his  life  a  Master-Builder  excluded  by  conspiracy  from  business, 
need  I  say  that  I  loyally  accepted  it?  I  am  not  prepared  to  say 
I  don't  believe  it  a  little  now. 

"But  I  say,  Mother,"  said  I,  "shall  I  sleep  upstairs  in  a  bed- 
room all  to  myself?" 

"  To  be  done  out  by  the  girl,"  replied  my  Mother.  "  Only  your 
bed  I  make  myself  whatever  Vance  may  say ! " 

"Wot's  Wance  been  a-sayin'  of?"  said  my  Father,  presenting 
himself  in  his  braces  and  noiseless  stockings  from  upstairs. 
"Who's  a-pitchin'  into  Wance?  Pour  me  out  my  tea,  old  gal." 
And  my  Father  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  which,  however,  was  merely 
provisional  in  case  he  should  happen  to  think  of  a  grievance.  He 


JOSEPH  VANCE  107 

really  was  in  a  most  complacent  frame  of  mind.  However,  he 
succeeded  in  throwing  his  next  remark  into  grievance-form. 

"And  here's  the  Nipper  only  just  this  minute  back,  and  I  lay 
he's  only  waitin'  to  swallow  down  his  breakfast  to  run  away  from 
his  natural  parents  to  his  Popular  Villa.  And  never  commoo- 
nicating  them  none  of  his  larnin'  what  he's  been  imbibin'  of  this 
three  months." 

"No,  Daddy,"  cried  I,  indignantly.  "I'm  going  to  stop  here 
all  the  morning  and  go  after  dinner.  I  don't  want  to  run  away 
from  you  and  Mother."  In  proof  of  which  I  went  and  sat  on  his 
knee.  "Besides,  Miss  Lossie  will  be  at  church!" 

My  Eather  closed  one  eye  to  express  caution  and  secrecy,  while 
with  the  other  he  affected  to  scan  a  remote  horizon. 

"  I  see,"  said  he.  "  In  coorse,  Miss  Looey  will  be  at  Church — 
in  coorse  she  will ! "  But  on  the  subject  of  Miss  Lossie  waggery 
slipped  off  me  like  drops  off  a  sea-bird's  wing.  I  soared  away  into 
the  heavens  without  noticing  the  water  below.  Dante  might  have 
bee*i  chaffed  about  the  Signorina  Portinari,  but  probably  he 
wouldn't  have  understood.  I  knew  my  Eather  was  chuckling,  but 
didn't  enquire  why. 

"  Just  a-tellin'  Joey,  I  was,"  said  my  Mother,  going  back  to  the 
change  of  home,  which  evidently  weighed  on  her  mind,  "that  I 
should  make  his  bed  just  the  same  in  the  new  'ouse.  Also  his 
things,  there  bein'  no  dependence  on  girls,  even  when  such  that 
followers  are  out  of  the  question,  and  higher  wages  taken  on 
that  account.  Knowin'  as  I  have  done  a  girl  by  name  Sarah  Car- 
stairs  whose  appearance  was  security  itself,  and  avoided  strickly 
by  gentlemen  and  young  men  alike,  but  twelve  pounds  a  year 
and  not  a  penny  less,  being  indeed  honest  and  sober,  but  as  I 
say " 

"  I  want  a  'ansum  girl  to  open  the  front  door,"  said  my  Eather, 
"  a  regular  Spanker !  " 

"  Then  Followers,"  said  my  Mother.  "  So  sure  as  the  sort  you 
describe,  Followers.  And  if  Followers,  then  Consequences!" 

"  And  then  you  bundles  of  'em  out,  Consequences  and  all,"  said 
my  Father.  "And  prob'ly  you  gives  'em  a  character  for  theii- 
next  place  when  the  Consequences  has  died  in  teething." 

"  But,  Vance  dear,"  said  my  Mother,  who  had  quite  taken  to 
heart  the  case  of  this  purely  imaginary  Spanker.  "  What's  to  be- 
come of  the  poor  girl,  I  ask  you,  in  the  meantime?  Because  it 
might  be  ever  so  long."  And  my  Eather  intimated  that  that  was 
the  Spanker's  lookout,  but  so  long  as  she  was  in  his  house,  a 
clean  cap  and  apron,  and  to  open  the  front  door  stylish.  But 


108  JOSEPH  VANCE 

the  cares  of  housekeeping  with  this  attractive  though  non-existent 
young  person  on  her  hands  depressed  my  poor  Mother  seriously. 

I  could  indeed  see  that  she  was  conjuring  up  all  sorts  of  night- 
mares in  the  way  of  housekeeping  difficulties,  and  I  could  not  at 
ten  years  of  age  pooh-pooh  them  from  my  own  experience.  If 
anything,  I  should  have  confirmed  her  fears.  For  in  my  many 
visits  to  Poplar  Villa  during  my  Penguin  period,  I  had  been  much 
impressed  with  the  frequent  collisions  between  Aunt  Izzy  and  the 
servants,  and  the  emphasis  with  which  the  former  denounced  the 
moral  worthlessness  and  incompetence  of  the  latter.  To  be  sure, 
Lossie  usually  took  their  part !  Also  I  felt  that  my  Mother  wasn't 
Aunt  Izzy,  very  much  indeed!  So  I  hoped  her  fears  were 
exaggerated. 

I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  ask  Miss  Lossie  what  she 
thought  on  this  point  as  I  walked  along  the  road  to  Poplar  Villa. 
But  here  was  a  disappointment!  Miss  Lossie  had  gone  to  Mrs. 
Spencer's  at  Hampstead  to  stay  over  Monday,  and  had  taken 
Master  Joseph.  The  Doctor  was  in  his  Library — he  always  was. 
Anne  suggested  what  I  hesitated  to  ask,  that  she  should  tell  the 
Doctor  I  had  come.  I  said  "  Please,  yes  " — because  the  expres- 
sion "You  have  come"  revealed  to  me  that  I  was  expected. 
Whereas  the  expression  "You  are  here"  would  not  have  done  so. 
What  nice  phases  there  are  in  language! — I  was  told,  after  ap- 
plication above,  to  go  up  to  the  Library. 

"Well,  Joe!  Back  again?  How  do  you  like  St.  Withold's?" 
The  question  was  put  in  a  form  that  enabled  me  to  say  "  Very 
much ! "  If  it  had  been  a  more  searching  one,  as,  for  instance, 
"  How  do  you  like  being  birched  ?  How  do  you  like  seeing  other 
boys  birched  because  they  have  made  a  false  quantity?  How  do 
you  like  emetics  as  a  digestive  remedy?  How  do  you  like  being 
bullied  ? " — had  it  been  any  such  question  I  should  have  bowed  to 
the  Great  Law  which  proclaims  Secrecy  as  the  whole  obligation 
of  life  to  the  schoolboy.  I  should  have  lied,  but  with  great  re- 
morse of  conscience.  Probably  the  Doctor  knew  quite  well  that  I 
should  lie,  and  must  lie,  if  he  asked  any  questions  the  answers  to 
which  would  reveal  abuses.  So  he  kindly  held  his  tongue,  and 
asked  no  more.  I  think  he  was  right.  Possibly  he  knew  tht 
failings  of  the  School,  but  not  their  extent,  and  not  being  pre- 
pared for  a  crusade  on  the  subject,  thought  it  best  that  I  should 
"take  my  chance  with  the  others."  Moreover,  he  had  no  choice 
of  another  school  for  his  protege. 

"  We're  looking  very  well,  anyhow,"  continued  the  Doctor,  and 
I  thought  this  form  of  speech  suggested  that  he  had  to  accept  my 


JOSEPH   VANCE  109 

answer  without  probing  it.  "  What  are  the  books  ?  Let's  have  a 
look — Sallust?  And  you've  done  all  that  this  term.  Yes,  please! 
— I  should  rather  think  it  was,  Yes,  please.  And  the  Anabasis? 
How  many  parasangs  have  you  and  Xenophon  marched?  All 
that?  Well  done,  Master  Joseph  Vance!  And  Colenso's  Al- 
gebra  " 

And  I  felt  I  had  my  reward,  for  the  Doctor  patted  me  on  the 
shoulder  as  I  leaned  against  his  knee  and  we  looked  at  the  books 
together,  for  I  felt  his  approval  in  his  hand. 

"Don't  you  recollect,  Doctor,"  said  I,  getting  garrulous,  "I 
wrote  that  I  thought  Mr.  Driver  would  get  me  put  up  to  the 
second  form  at  once,  and  they  did  it  after  the  first  preliminary 
Exam.  The  first  form  were  awful  muffs,  and  some  older  than 
me!  Dr.  Lasher  said  it  was  no  use  keeping  a  boy  who  could  do 
Herodotus  by  himself  in  the  first  form " 

"When  did  you  do  Herodotus?" 

''Why,  ever  so  long  ago!  Nolly  couldn't  make  something  out, 
and  I  did  it  for  him.  And  then  I  thought  Herodotus  looked  so 
jolly  that  I  borrowed  it  and  did  some  of  Melpomene  by  myself." 

"  But  how  did  Dr.  Lasher  know  about  this  ? " 

"  Because  in  English  Literature  there  was  about  anthropophagi 
and  men  whose  heads  do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders.  And  Mr. 
Driver  said  this  showed  what  a  lot  Shakespeare  knew,  and  that 
he  must  have  read  Herodotus.  And  I  said  to  the  boy  next  me 
that  it  wasn't  in  Herodotus.  And  Mr.  Driver  said  what  had 
I  said  to  S  alter.  And  I  told  him,  and  he  sent  me  to  the  bottom 
of  the  class  for  talking.  And  then  he  asked  all  the  boys  what  was 
the  meaning  of  anthropophagus — and  they  didn't  know.  And  I 
said  Man-Eaters.  And  Mr.  Driver  said  "You're  guessing,  little 
Vance!  Write  out  anthropophagus  two  hundred  times  for  guess- 
ing, and  two  hundred  times  for  saying  it  isn't  in  Herodotus.  And 
then  I  said  it  wasn't  in  Herodotus,  because  it  was  Androphagi  in 
Herodotus.  And  old  Driver  looked  and  found  I  was  right,  and 
sent  me  up  to  the  top  of  the  class." 

"  And  did  you  write  out  Anthropophagus  five  hundred  times  ? " 

"It  was  only  two  hundred,"  said  I,  anxious  for  strict  justice. 
"  No,  I  went  to  Mr.  Driver  after  class-time,  and  said,  '  Please,  Sir, 
am  I  to  write  out  Anthropophagus  two  hundred  times  ? '  And  he 
said,  *  No — once  would  do  this  time ! '  And  he  made  me  write  it 
in  Greek  letters.  Then  he  asked  me  what  book  of  Herodotus  it 
was  in,  and  I  said  Melpomene.  And  he  said  '  Hm ! '  But  directly 
after  the  Examination,  I  was  moved  ui>.  Please,  when's  Misa 
Lossie  coming  back?" 


110  JOSEPH  VANCE 

This  was  sudden,  but  I  felt  that  school  trivialities  had  occupied 
us  long  enough,  and  serious  matters  should  be  attended  to.  Dr. 
Thorpe  laughed. 

"  She  is  coming  back — sometime — at  least,  I  hope  so !  But  as 
for  when,  that's  quite  another  pair  of  shoes.  When  a  young  lady 
goes  to  see  her  dearest  friend  she  stays  as  long  as  she  can.  How- 
ever, if  we  send  Anne  to  fetch  away  Joey,  she'll  come  too.  We'll 
put  the  calf  in  a  cart  and  the  cow  will  follow  it.  Suppose  you 
walk  over  and  see  her.  It's  only  seven  miles  from  here  to  Frog- 
nail — are  you  game  for  seven  miles  ? "  I  laughed  seven  miles  to 
scorn.  "  But  it's  rather  a  cross-country,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Per- 
haps you'd  better  walk  to  Charing-Cross,  or  'bus,  and  get  the 
Hampstead  'bus  from  Charing  Cross." 

"All  right,"  said  I,  with  manly  decision.  "But  won't  they 
mind?" 

"Who  mind  what?"  said  Dr.  Thorpe. 

"  The  people  where  she  is  mind  me  ? " 

"  Oh  no !  They  won't  mind  you — or,  look  here !  Here's  a  letter 
to  forward  to  Lossie.  I'll  just  write  a  line  to  say  you're  coming, 
and  you  can  post  it." 

So  the  Doctor  wrote  the  line  and  put  it  in  a  separate  envelope. 
"  If  I  had  been  mean,"  said  he,  "  I  could  have  slipped  a  little  piece 
of  paper  inside  the  other  envelope  and  sent  my  message  for  noth- 
ing! You  see,  Joe,  what  an  expensive  luxury  a  good  character  is. 
Now  I  must  get  on  with  my  writing.  Come  again  soon,  in  the 
evening." 

And  I  posted  the  letter  at  the  Tea-man  and  Grocer's  along  the 
road,  and  went  home  rejoicing. 


CHAPTEK  XV 

HOW  JOE  WALKED  AND  'BUSSED  TO  LOSSIE  IN  HAMPSTEAD.  HOW  A 
LITTLE  GIRL  TALKED  TO  HIM,  WHO  PREFERRED  DROWNING  TO  HANG- 
ING. HOW  LOSSIE  LIT  JOE's  HEART  UP;  AND  OF  THE  SPENCER 
MANAGE.  LOSSIE  MAKES  JOE  TROT  ST.  WITHOLD  OUT  AT  THE  FIRS  ON 
HAMPSTEAD  HEATH.  HOW  GLAD  JOE  WAS  HE  HAD  TOLD  NO  MORE 
ABOUT  HIS  SCHOOL  NIGHTMARE. 

I  WAS  in  a  mighty  hurry,  you  may  be  sure,  to  get  breakfast 
and  start.  And  my  Mother  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  providing 
poached  eggs  and  bacon,  to  say  nothing  of  jam  and  marmalade. 
It  was  so  unlike  the  days  when  my  Father  used  to  appropriate 
more  than  his  fair  share  of  his  salary  at  Fothergill's,  to  treat  a 
good  deal  too  many  friends  at  the  Roebuck  much  too  liberally.  I 
believe  these  friends  all  regarded  him  as  a  backslider  seduced 
from  the  Communion  of  Drinks  by  the  Apostles  of  Mammon, 
rather  than  as  a  Freethinker,  or  advocate  of  Temperance  on  moral 
grounds.  I  thought  of  this  as  I  devoured  my  breakfast  rapidly 
(which  was  quite  needless,  as  I  certainly  did  not  save  five  minutes 
by  doing  so),  and  hoped  in  my  heart  that  he  would  never  slide 
forward  again. 

„  "You  just  go  straight  along  the  road  as  ever  you  can  go  and 
turn  into  the  Wandsworth  Road  and  keep  right  on  and  you  can't 
miss  it."  Thus  my  Mother,  whose  further  instructions  I  of 
course  despised;  the  wayfarer  always  does  despise  instructions 
when  assured  that  "he  can't  miss  it."  But  it  isn't  easy  to  miss 
London  when  you  start  within  six  miles  of  St.  Paul's,  so  I  only 
lost  a  little  time,  and  found  a  green  Hampstead  'bus  as  directed 
at  Charing  Cross.  My  experience  in  this  case  was  the  reverse  of 
the  metaphysician's  who  "  denned  "  omnibuses  as  "  things  that  go 
in  the  opposite  direction." 

In  those  days  Hampstead  was  in  the  country;  indeed,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  an  outcrop  of  suburban  villas  at  Haverstock  Hill, 
Mother  Redcap  would  have  been  very  nearly  the  limit  of  town. 
Omnibuses  thought  this  tavern  the  edge  of  civilisation,  and 
stopped  a  long  time  for  refreshments  and  badinage  before  ventur- 
ing out  into  the  wilderness.  Mine  was  a  very  slow  example,  and 

111 


112  JOSEPH  VANCE 

must  have  whiled  the  best  part  of  an  hour  between  the  Redcap  and 
the  cowpond  on  the  left  of  the  road  facing  Downshire  Hill.  At 
this  point  I  began  to  despair  of  ever  reaching  The  Limes,  which 
was  the  name  of  Miss  Spencer's  father's  House.  So  I  gave  way 
to  impatience  and  walked  up  the  hill.  This  piqued  the  omnibus, 
causing  it  to  put  an  extra  horse  with  a  man  on  it  in  front,  and 
to  shout  after  me  with  triumph  that  I'd  better  'a'  sat  still  and 
waited  a  minute.  Perhaps  I  had,  but  then  the  omnibus  had  ap- 
peared to  be  chewing  the  cud  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  in  sympathy 
with  the  cows  in  the  pond. 

Mr.  Spencer  (who  was  Dr.  Thorpe's  Legal  Adviser)  lived  in 
one  of  three  old  red -brick-faced  houses  that  had  a  front  garden  in 
common,  and  a  way  in  for  carriages,  like  Poplar  Villa.  The 
respectability  of  The  Limes  alone  would  have  given  confidence  in 
Mr.  Spencer  as  a  Legal  Authority.  But  he  had,  apart  from  this, 
as  high  a  reputation  for  caution  and  responsibility  as  any  solicitor 
on  the  Rolls.  Although  if  Professor  Absalom's  view  of  him  was 
correct,  he  had  acquired  his  fame  for  the  latter  solely  by  an  un- 
warrantable parade  of  the  former  quality.  I  once  heard  the  Pro- 
fessor say  to  Dr.  Thorpe,  "My  dear  Thorpe,  have  you  ever — in 
all  your  experience  of  Aldridge,  Spencer,  Spencer,  and  Aldridge — 
known  that  Firm  to  give  you,  or  any  one  else,  a  decisive  piece  of 
advice  ? "  And  Dr.  Thorpe  replied,  "  My  dear  Absalom,  if  any 
member  of  that  Firm  had  done  such  a  thing  to  me,  I  should  have 
lost  all  confidence  in  it  at  once.  But  the  way  in  which  Spencer 
prefers  to  reserve  his  judgment  is  worth  volumes  of  other  people's 
shallow  decisions." 

I  found  my  way  to  The  Limes  and  got  there  just  in  time  to  avoid 
a  shower  of  rain.  Miss  Thorpe  wasn't  in;  but  would  be,  and  had 
left  word  that  I  was  to  be  accommodated  with  books  to  read  until 
her  return.  So  I  was  shown  into  a  parlour  that  smelt  of  book- 
leather,  horsehair,  and  conservatory,  and  had  no  one  in  it  but  a 
canary,  who  was  singing  very  loud;  and  was  given  my  choice  of  a 
volume,  and  preferred  "  Peter  Simple,"  please — having  indeed  had 
enough  of  the  classics  lately.  I  was  just  reading  O'Brien's 
description  of  flapdoodle,  "the  stuff  they  feed  fools  on,"  when  I 
became  aware  that  I  was  an  object  of  interest  to  a  little  girl  about 
my  own  age,  who  had  sighted  me  from  a  back  room  and  was  work- 
ing gradually  up  towards  communication.  As  I  saw  her  first 
in  a  mirror  on  the  table,  and  had  only  been  seen  by  her  reflection, 
I  thought  I  wasn't  bound  to  take  any  steps  myself,  and  went  on 
considering  what  O'Brien  meant.  I  had  informed  myself  about 
flapdoodle  by  the  time  the  little  girl  had  got  so  near  that  I  felt  I 


JOSEPH  VANCE  113 

couldn't  pretend  any  longer,  and  I  looked  up  at  the  original  of 
the  reflection,  which  was  a  rather  pretty  and  very  serious  little 
maiden  manifestly  sucking  a  peppermint  drop.  She  looked  at  me 
with  gravity  for  a  few  seconds,  then  asked  if  I  should  like  one.  I 
was  not  sure  that  it  was  good  form  to  smell  of  peppermint  in 
strange  houses,  so  I  said  I  didn't  care  for  it,  which  was  untrue. 
The  way  was,  however,  paved  for  further  advances. 

"Are  you  Miss  Lucilla  Thorpe's  Schoolboy  that  was  expected 
and  that's  to  stop  for  lunch  ?  " 

I  said  yes,  with  confidence.  Miss  Lossie  had  arranged  it  and 
that  was  sufficient.  I  thought  the  enquiry  justified  a  question 
from  me. 

"Are  you  Miss  Sarita's  sister  Jane  that's  seven  years  younger 
than  she  is,  and  called  Grizzle  for  short  ? "  Because  though  Miss 
Sarita  herself  was  the  only  one  of  the  family  I  had  seen,  I  had 
picked  up  the  family  history. 

"Yes — I'm  Grizzle,  or  Janey — whichever  people  like  to  call  me. 
Which  will  you?"  I  reflected  a  minute  and  decided  on  Janey. 
On  which  Janey  added,  "And  begin  now!"  I  nodded  once  with 
my  lips  closed,  as  a  pledge  that  I  would  do  so  on  the  next  occa- 
sion, and  then  Janey  said,  looking  straight  at  me  with  a  pair  of 
hazel  eyes:  "  What's  your  name?  Because  I  can't  call  you  School- 
boy!" 

"My  name's  Joe  Vance.  The  boys  call  me  little  Vance,  but 
not  Joe.  You  call  me  Joe,  please ! " 

"Joe,  but  not  Vance!  Very  well — you're  very  fond  of  Miss 
Lossie,  aren't  you,  Joe?" 

"  Yes,  very — aren't  you  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  am.  But  not  so  fond  as  Sarry  is.  She's  very 
very  fond  of  her.  It  goes  by  veries." 

I  felt  that  my  education  had  been  neglected  but  that  now  I 
knew. 

"I  hope  you've  got  a  nice  book  to  read — there's  plenty  more 
here  if  you  haven't.  Oh  yes!  'Peter  Simple.'  I'm  so  fond  of 
Captain  Marryat.  They  are  capital  books  for  boys."  I  resented 
this  as  patronizing.  "  But  I  like  all  books  about  the  sea,  because 
I  like  the  sea — I  would  ever  so  much  sooner  be  drowned  than 
hanged." 

"  But,  I  say,  Janey ! "  My  promise  about  calling  her  by  her 
name  was  a  little  on  my  conscience,  and  I  felt  easier  as  soon  as  I 
had  achieved  it.  "  I  say,  Janey ! — you  know  you  needn't  be  either 
drowned  or  hanged." 

"Don't  you  think  so,  Joe  2    Perhaps  not !    But  suppose  you  had 


114  JOSEPH  VANCE 

to  decide  which?  I  should  vote  for  drowning!  I  should  neve? 
vote  for  being  hanged,  if  they  went  on  till  Doomsday."  And 
Janey  sucked  her  peppermint  drop  with  her  chin  between  her 
hands  and  her  elbows  on  a  chair  back,  and  looked  very  grave  about 
it. 

"  I  shouldn't  vote  for  either/'  said  I. 

"Perhaps  they  won't  ask  us,"  said  Janey,  and  I  really  felt  the 
matter  was  getting  serious.  Could  nothing  be  done  to  avert  such 
a  gloomy  destiny?  But  we  waived  the  point,  for  a  knock  came, 
and  Janey  said,  "  That's  Lossie  Thorpe  coming.  Now  mind  you 
recollect  and  call  me  Janey." 

How  odd  the  tricks  of  memory  are!  I  had  completely  for- 
gotten this  conversation  of  forty-odd  years  ago  until  I  bought 
some  peppermint  drops  for  some  children  this  morning,  and  they 
ordered  me  to  take  one  myself,  and  not  spit  it  out.  I  never  re- 
membered it  even  when — however,  that  must  stand  over! 

I  checked  an  impulse  to  run  out  and  meet  Miss  Lossie,  as  I  had 
repressed  a  natural  greed  for  peppermint  lozenges,  from  a  doubt 
whether  one  could  take  such  a  liberty  as  to  walk  out  of  another 
person's  house  and  come  back  again,  until  at  any  rate  one  should 
have  shaken  hands  with  the  whole  family.  But  I  hadn't  long  to 
wait  for  Lossie's  "Is  Joe  Vance  come?  Where  is  he?  In  the 
Library  ? "  and  Grizzle's  announcement  as  she  opened  the  door 
of  our  room,  "  I've  got  him  in  here,"  as  if  I  were  a  specimen. 

"  Where  have  you  got  him  ?  In  here  ?  May  we  have  some  of 
him?  Why,  Joe,  you've  really  grown  in  three  months!  Is  it 
school  or  what?  Remember  I  want  you  always  to  be  a  little  chap, 
and  don't  grow  too  much — whatever  shall  I  do  if  Joey  begins  to 
grow  too?  However,  he  can't  do  that  for  another  four  years  at 
least — can  you,  Joey  ? "  For  Joey  was  still  Lossie's  invariable 
asteroid,  although  he  had  left  his  babyhood  three  years  behind. 
But  he  retained  a  lisp,  and  with  it,  or  in  spite  of  it,  he  now  re- 
marked, "I  want  to  grow  up  vethy  thoon,  and  to  have  a  horth." 
For  Master  Joseph  whenever  he  spoke  made  a  requisition. 

"Well,"  said  Lossie,  "you've  had  a  donkey  to-day,  and  that's 
enough  for  you!  Now,  Joe,  are  you  glad  or  sorry  to  be  back,  and 
how's  your  Father  and  Mother  ?  "  She  kept  my  two  hands  in  hers 
until  I  had  replied  that  I  was  superlatively  glad,  with  reserves 
about  school  being  perfectly  satisfactory  to  avoid  awakening 
suspicion  of  the  contrary,  and  that  Father  and  Mother  were  both 
well  and  desired  me  to  give  their  best  respects.  She  then  took  her 
hands  back  to  pull  her  bonnet  off  (for  in  those  days  girls  wore 
bonnets),  and  gave  it  to  Joey  to  carry  upstairs  very  carefully  and 


JOSEPH  VANCE  115 

not  squash  it.  I  think  Master  Joseph  was  going  to  bargain,  but 
his  sister  said,  "  Cut  along,  now — you've  had  a  donkey !  "  and  he 
conceded  the  point  with  reluctance.  Then  Lossie  threw  herself 
into  a  rocking-chair  and  took  a  good  look  at  me. 

I  am  glad  I  am  not  called  upon  to  make  oath  about  some 
recollections  of  long  ago.  If  I  had  to  swear  an  affidavit  on  the 
question  of  whether,  just  at  the  time  Lossie  came  in  at  the  door 
of  that  most  respectable  and  tranquil  Spencer  mansion,  some  one 
did  or  did  not  open  all  the  windows,  and  let  the  sweet  spring  air 
into  all  the  closed  rooms,  and  pull  up  all  the  half -down  blinds 
and  let  in  the  sunshine,  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  make  up  my  mind 
to  swearing-point.  It  may  have  been  so,  or  it  may  have  been 
merely  Lossie. 

"  Rather  grave  you  look,  at  a  distance,  Joe,"  she  said.  "  Come 
up  near  and  see  then — that's  right,  now  you're  laughing !  " 

I  was  laughing,  though  indeed  I  was  a  little  frightened  of  Miss 
Lossie's  enquiring  eyes.  I  read  in  them  a  coming  catechjsm 
about  school,  with  a  foreboding  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  tell 
favourable  fibs  under  their  penetrating  gaze.  I  began  betraying  my 
uneasiness,  like  a  little  idiot,  by  importing  foreign  matter  into 
the  conversation. 

"  I  say,"  said  I,  "  what  an  awfully  long  way  it  is  from  Wands- 
worth  to  Charing  Cross!  And  there  were  such  a  lot  of  people  in 
the  ferry  boat  it  nearly  turned  over." 

"  Where  on  earth  has  the  boy  been  ?    What  ferry-boat,  Joe  ? " 

"Why,  at  Chelsea!  Because  I  got  off  the  road  at  Battersea, 
and  got  into  the  fields,  and  then  got  the  ferry  for  a  penny  below 
Chelsea  Church.  And  then  I  walked  up  to  Sloane  Street,  and  it 
had  got  so  late  I  took  the  'bus  to  Charing  Cross."  I  enlarged  a 
good  deal  on  the  dangers  and  difficulties  of  Chelsea  Ferry,  but  my 
hearer  wasn't  deeply  interested.  Probably  she  saw  my  motive. 

"  You  saw  Papa,  Joe,  yesterday  ?    Did  you  see  Aunt  Izzy  ? " 

"  No — she  was  writing  circulars,  and  thought  I  was  the  Baker, 
So  I  didn't  go  in."  Miss  Lossie  accepted  my  words  as  clear,  so  I 
suppose  they  were  so. 

"And  of  course,"  said  she,  "Nolly's  at  Claydon  Court  till 
Saturday.  I  want  to  know  if  Nolly  thinks  your  school  like 

Eton "  I  got  frightened  again,  but  a  diversion  occurred.  Miss 

Sarita  Spencer  came  downstairs  ready  for  lunch  and  said  it  was 
a  quarter  past  one  and  lunch  was  half -past,  and  how  did  I  do, 
Master  Vance?  I  did  very  well,  thank  you,  Miss  Spencer,  and 
might  I  wash  my  hands.  This  was  negotiated,  and  while  I 
washed  my  hands  almost  religiously  (in  view  of  the  style  of  the 


116  JOSEPH   VANCE 

house)  I  reflected  on  Miss  Sarita  Spencer,  and  why  it  was  that  I 
thought  that  if  Euclid  ever  had  a  daughter  she  must  have  been 
rather  like  Miss  Sarry.  Perhaps  it  was  chiefly,  if  not  entirely, 
because  her  elbows  appeared  actually  to  be  the  angles  ABC  and 
A  C  B  themselves,  and  because  of  a  certain  flavour  or  aura  of 
plane  surfaces  of  which  one  was  conscious  during  interviews,  or 
when  following  their  owner  (or  subject)  up  the  street. 

I  washed  my  hands  so  long  that  I  had  time  also  to  wonder  why 
she  and  Lossie  should  at  first  sight  have  flown  into  each  other's 
arms,  and  down  each  other's  throats;  which  was  Lossie's  version 
of  what  took  place.  But  I  only  wondered  because  I  did  not  at 
that  early  age  know  the  law  of  the  attraction  of  opposites.  If 
I  had,  I  should  have  said  to  myself,  "Why,  of  course — Miss 
Lossie  hasn't  got  an  Angle  in  her  composition,  at  least  not  one 
that  would  stick  in!  And  if  Miss  Sarry  were  to  try  ever  so  to 
make  her  hair  go  in  a  fluff  and  get  in  her  eyes,  she  couldn't  do 
it.  And  Miss  S.  is  evidently  getting  ready  to  be  twenty,  while 
Lossie  hasn't  quite  forgotten  how  to  be  ten." — Sarry  was  a  year 
older  than  Lossie,  being  at  this  date  seventeen  and  a  half.  I  have 
since  then  found  out  that  there  are  two  distinct  classes  of  girls 
and  boys — those  who  in  youth  are  early  versions  of  their  maturity, 
and  those  who  in  old  age  are  late  editions  of  their  childhood. 
When  I  last  saw  Lossie  I  saw  again  the  Lossie  of  Poplar  Villa. 
When  I  first  saw  Sarry  Spencer  I  knew  exactly  what  she  would 
be  twenty — thirty  years  later.  But  had  she  lived  till  now  no  one, 
seeing  her  for  the  first  time,  could  ever  have  guessed  what  she 
was  like  as  a  girl  of  seventeen. 

A  sudden  luncheon-bell  stopped  my  reflections  and  sent  me  with 
half-dried  hands  to  be  shown  to  Mr.  Spencer  by  Lossie,  as  my 
young  friend  Joe  Vance  who  had  just  come  from  school  at  St. 
Withold's.  On  which  Mr/  Spencer  succeeded,  by  saying,  "  St. 
Withold's — ah  ha ! "  and  then  giving  a  little  nod  and  shutting 
his  lips  tight,  in  making  me  believe  he  knew  all  about  St.  Withold, 
and  had  only  a  qualified  opinion  of  the  Saint,  whereas  I  really 
believe  he  knew  nothing  whatever.  This  made  me  uneasy,  and  I 
was  greatly  relieved  when,  on  being  told  that  I  had  come  by  in- 
vitation to  see  Hampstead  Heath,  he  repeated  in  exactly  the  same 
way, "  Hampstead  Heath — ah  ha ! "  as  if  the  motives  of  such  a  visit 
were  open  to  suspicion.  But  Lossie  dissipated  his  legal  manner. 

"  Why  shouldn't  Joe  Vance  come  to  see  Hampstead  Heath,  I 
should  like  to  know?  Come  now,  Mr.  Spencer,  don't  be  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  but  tell  us  why — and  give  me  some  beef  for  Joe, 
because  he's  ravenous." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  117 

"Well,  my  dear  Lucilla,"  said  Mr.  Spencer,  very  weightily, 
"  as  you  press  me  so  for  an  answer — stop  a  minute  for  some  more 
gravy — I  have  no  serious  objection  to  making  this  admission — 
take  care  you  don't  spill  it — to  making  this  admission  with  all 
due  reservation — pass  me  the  mustard,  my  dear — with  all  due 
reservation,  that  on  the  whole  I  see  no  objection  whatever  to  Joe 
Vance  coming  to  see  Hampstead  Heath." 

"  Of  course  not ! "  cried  Lossie.  And  Sarita  and  Grizzle 
echoed,  "  Of  course  not."  Their  mother,  who  was  there,  but  who 
was  one  of  those  people  who  make  no  impression  on  others  and 
who  apparently  receive  none  themselves,  seemed  to  say  something. 
She  had  iron-grey  rolls  of  hair  on  each  side  of  her  forehead,  and 
spoke  under  her  breath,  and  I  don't  think  I  should  have  known 
she  too  said  "  Of  course  not "  only  that  Lossie  went  on,  "  I'm.  so 
glad  you  agree  with  me,  Mrs.  Spencer.  And  we  are  all  going  out 
for  a  walk  to  show  Joe  Vance  Hampstead  Heath  if  it  doesn't 
rain."  On  which  Master  Joseph,  who  was  on  the  other  side  of 
Lossie,  struck  in,  "  I've  been  on  the  Heath  wunth  to-day.  I  want 
to  go  to  the  Zoological  Gardenth  in  Regent's  Park,  and  see  the 
Carnivorous  Animals  fed  at  four  o'clock  precisely."  But  this  was 
negatived  and  we  got  out  on  the  Heath  in  due  course,  and 
Lossie  and  Sarita  pointed  across  the  London  fog  to  show  me 
where  I  had  come  from.  The  Wen  (as  Cobbett  called  it)  was 
then  a  small  Wen  compared  to  what  it  is  now.  But  the  heap  of 
fog  that  hid  the  Surrey  Hills  was  denser  for  its  thickness — for 
when  I  looked  over  London  from  the  same  point  one  April  day 
two  years  since,  I  saw  the  Crystal  Palace  plain  enough.  And  then 
I  thought  how  Lossie  and  Miss  Spencer  and  Joey  and  I  stood  there 
on  that  day,  and  how  then  there  was  no  Crystal  Palace.  And 
Penge  Park  slept  unsuspicious  and  unspoiled.  But  we  walked 
towards  the  Spaniards  without  speculating  about  the  growth  of 
London.  There  were  so  many  fields  between,  and  the  air  was  so 
sweet  after  April  showers  in  the  morning,  that  we  didn't  trouble 
our  heads  about  anything. 

At  least,  not  for  a  moment.  For  when  we  had  started  for  the 
Spaniards  (after  a  demand  from  Joey  that  we  should  go  to  High- 
gate,  and  his  being  told  that  it  was  on  the  way  there,  and  ex- 
pressing suspicion  of  our  veracity)  trouble  came  into  my  head  in 
the  form  of  an  apprehension  that  Lossie  was  going  to  have  it  out 
of  me  about  St.  Withold.  Now  apart  from  my  wish  to  keep  my- 
self a  sealed  book  on  the  subject,  I  was  happy  at  the  pause  in  the 
process  of  my  conversion  to  a  Gentleman,  and  was  thoroughly  en- 
joying the  peace  and  the  presence  of  Lossie.  Of  course,  like  the 


118  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Spirit  that  left  the  body,  and  had  to  return  and  reanimate  it,  I  was 
luxuriating  in  my  Heaven,  and  shutting  my  eyes  to  the  horror  of 
a  re-entry  into  the  prison-house.  After  all,  that  would  be  ten  days 
hence !  I  wasn't  going  to  fidget  about  that  at  least  until  Saturday. 
Eleven  years  old  does  this  sort  of  thing  very  easily. 

But  then  I  had  never  had  a  secret  from  Lossie.  In  my  three 
years  of  Penguin's  I  had  naturally  become  a  sort  of  tame  cat 
at  Poplar  Villa.  Indeed,  at  some  undefined  confluence  of  events, 
Miss  Lossie  had  become  Lossie  to  me;  having,  I  think,  for  a  short 
time  stood  between  inverted  commas  as  a  protest  against  any 
presumption  on  my  part.  She  used  to  speak  of  me  as  "  t'other  lit- 
tle Brother,"  and  whenever  I  had  anything  to  tell  that  was  pleasant 
or  otherwise,  or  anything  on  my  conscience,  I  was  sure  to  take 
Lossie  into  my  confidence  first,  with  of  course  a  reserve  in  favour 
of  my  Mother  after;  the  communications  to  Lossie  always  being 
made  with  a  subcutaneous  sense  of  what  a  pleasure  it  would  be  to 
tell  my  Mother  what  Miss  Lossie  had  said  of  this  or  of  that.  For 
in  speaking  to  my  Mother  I  retained  the  Miss,  not  to  put  her  to 
the  embarrassment  of  a  doubt  whether  she  was  or  wasn't  expected 
to  change  her  own  form  of  address.  But  I  had  never  held  my 
tongue  about  anything  to  either,  and  here  was  I  resolute  to  keep  a 
secret  if  possible  from  both.  It  was  very  unpleasant. 

"  Now,  Joe,  let  them  go  on  in  front — and  then  we  can  talk.  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  St.  Withold's." 

The  Examination  had  begun,  and  the  answer  to  the  first  ques- 
tion was  evasive.  It  was  framed  on  the  lines  of  Baedeker — treat- 
ing of  the  antiquity  of  the  school,  the  lateness  of  its  Decorated 
period,  and  the  earliness  of  its  Perpendicular ;  of  the  number  of  its 
masters,  and  the  profundity  of  their  scholarship;  of  the  smallness 
of  Dr.  Lasher's  eyes,  and  the  redness  of  the  second  Latin  Master's 
nose;  and  then,  becoming  feeble  and  diffuse,  drivelled  ddWn  to 
the  tightness  of  the  first  Mathematical  Master's  trousers.  They 
were  awfully  tight  and  Purdy  secundus  reported  that  he  had 
heard  them  bursting  at  the  seams. 

"Stuff  and  nonsense,  Joe!"  exclaimed  Lossie,  impatiently. 
"  You  know  very  well  that  Mr.  Packer's  trousers  are  not  what  I 
want  to  know  about.  Bother  Mr.  Packer's  trousers! — Tell  me 
about  the  classes,  about  the  food,  about  the  matron,  about  the  boys — 
especially  the  bad  boys.  Are  the  boys,  the  bad  ones  I  mean,  as 
much  flogged  as  some  people  say  ?  Or  is  it  all  exaggeration  ? " 

O  that  I  had  only  to  confess  up  to  my  own  birchings  (for  that 
was  the  rock  ahead)  to  one  who  would  have  cheerfully  derided 
me  and  danced  with  joy  over  the  amount  of  the  infliction !  O  that 


JOSEPH  VANCE  116 

Porky  Owls  had  been  the  Examiner!  'How  I  should  have  re- 
joiced in  describing  castigation  beyond  human  endurance,  cart- 
loads of  new  birch-rods,  and  Dr.  Lasher  fainting  with  exhaustion 
and  brought  afresh  to  the  scratch  by  means  of  strong  stimulants ! 
But  Porky  had  (so  I  heard)  entered  the  Merchant  Service,  and 
was  Heaven  knows  where !  And  it  was  Lossie,  Lossie  herself,  that 
was  waiting  for  an  answer  with  the  thoughtful  grey  eyes  under 
the  long  eyelashes  fixed  on  me,  with  somewhat,  as  I  now  saw,  of 
more  serious  purpose  in  her  questioning  than  mere  concern  in  her 
little  brother's  welfare,  however  strong  that  might  be. 

"  Come,  Joe,  don't  sit  there  with  your  lips  shut,  looking  like  an 
owl!  Do  thaw  a  little  and  tell  me  things!'7 

"What  about?" 

"  Joe,  little  brothers  ought  not  to  be  little  Humbugs !  You 
know  what  about  as  well  as  I  do.  About  how  much  bad  boys  are 
punished." 

"  Well !     I  suppose  it's  like  any  other  School." 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  the  uselessness  of  evasion  before  those 
grey-blue  eyes,  and  indeed  I  don't  know  if  I  should  have  managed 
this  one,  only  that  when  I  looked  shyly  up  to  see  what  they  were 
doing  they  were  looking  towards  Harrow.  My  reprieve  was  short, 
for  the  eyes  came  back  from  Harrow  with  startling  suddenness — 

"Joe!    Tell  me  the  truth !    Have  they  ever  birched  you?" 

"  Of  course  they  have.  All  the  boys  get  birched — it  doesn't 
matter  really  whether  they  are  good  or  bad — it's  part  of  the  disci- 
pline. Dr.  Lasher  says  he  was  birched  when  he  was  young,  and 
what  would  he  have  been  without  it?"  For  this  was  indeed  the 
way  in  which  the  Reverend  Doctor  looked  at  the  question,  and  im- 
pressed us  boys  with  a  sense  of  his  perfections  as  he  stood.  For 
we  accepted  the  view  that  a  Head-Master  who  was  satisfied  with 
himself  must  be  great  indeed.  Subsequent  reflection  has  made 
me  doubt  whether  a  familiarity  with  Greek  particles  and  accents 
alone  compensates  for  any  and  every  other  defect  of  character — 
and  I  have  since  shuddered  to  think  what  Dr.  Lasher  without  his 
early  discipline  would  have  been,  if  he  was  right  about  the  good 
it  did  him.  "  And  you  know,  Lossie,"  I  went  on,  "  they  say  at  the 
school  that  girls  and  women  know  nothing  about  it,  and  that  boys 
have  got  to  be  men,  and  that  they  mustn't  be  allowed  to  grow  up 
Milksops." 

"  And  so  on,  and  so  on,  and  so  on,  and  so  on,"  said  Lossie.  "  I 
know  all  about  it,  dear  Joe!  Don't  suppose  I  don't.  What  did 
they  birch  you  for?" 

"  Oh,  I  hadn't  been  doing  any  harm.    I  was  birched  for  con- 


120  JOSEPH  VANCE 

tradicting  the  Mathematical  Tutor.  You  know  they  put  me  back 
to  do  Euclid  all  over  again." 

"  But  why  did  you  contradict  him  ?  " 

"  Because  of  the  Definition  of  a  Straight  Line — a  line  that  lies 
evenly  between  its  extreme  points.  I  asked  him  what  lying  evenly 
meant.  And  he  wasn't  able  to  answer,  so  he  said  I  had  contra- 
dicted him.  And,"  said  I,  with  a  glimmer  of  hope  that  we  might 
wander  away  from  the  birch-rod,  "  it  is  awful  rot,  you  know — 
you  might  just  as  well  say  that  it  lay  straight  between  them,  or 
that  a  straight  line  is  a  line  that  is  straight ! " 

But  Lossie  was  not  to  be  taken  off  the  scent  by  this  red  herring. 
She  insisted  on  full  details,  and  I  went  on  hoping  against  hope  for 
another.  "  Well !  Old  Lasher  didn't  lick  into  me  very  much  that 
time,  to  spite  Packer,  because  it  was  Mathematics,  and  of  course 
Lasher  is  Classical  Languages  and  Literature  and  hates  Mathe- 
matics. They  always  say  at  the  School  that  Packer  can  never 
get  a  boy  properly  flogged.  But  Lasher  laid  it  well  on  to  a  boy  in 
his  own  form,  for  translating  populos  people." 

"  I  thought  it  was  people." 

"  Yes — that's  pop  with  a  short  o — this  was  poapulos  with  a  long 
o.  Well!  He  gave  this  boy  all  my  share  as  well  as  his  own.  It 
was  Spendergrass  primus — that  was  his  name,  you  know." 

"  Yes— and  then  ? " 

And  then  I  wanted  to  say  that  the  incident  ended.  But  I  had 
got  involved  in  my  own  narrative,  and  the  merciless  eyes  fixed 
me  to  more,  though  I  had  sworn  to  myself  that  nothing  on  earth 
should  make  me  reveal  the  sequel  of  this  story. 

"Well — nothing!     Only  Spendergrass  primus  complained." 

"  Complained  of  what? " 

"  Complained  that  I  had  less  than  he,  and  it  wasn't  fair." 

"  Who  did  he  complain  to — to  Dr.  Lasher  ? " 

"Dr.  Lasher?  Of  course  not!  He  complained  to  the  Head 
Boys  on  my  form." 

"And  what  did  they  say." 

"  Oh,  nothing — it  doesn't  matter." 

"Now,  no  nonsense,  Joe!  Doesn't  matter — the  idea!  I  mean 
to  know  all  about  it,  and  you  may  as  well  tell  me." 

"  Well— they  said  I  must  be  pickled." 

"  Good  Heavens !     What  did  the  horrible  little  wretches  mean  ? " 

With  a  mixed  feeling  of  shame  at  the  transaction,  and  of  pride 
in  its  existence  as  a  great  and  immemorial  usage  of  my  School,  I 
revealed  that  boys  who  were  considered  to  have  had,  from  favour- 
itism or  otherwise,  too  lenient  a  dose  of  the  rod,  were  subjected  to 


JOSEPH  YANCE  121 

an  irritant  of  pepper  or  salt,  according  to  circumstances,  in  order 
to  equalize  the  justice  or  injustice  of  the  relative  cases.  Probably 
it  was  something  of  this  sort  that  led  to  the  turpentine  incident  I 
have  already  referred  to. 

"And,  ohl  Joe — dear  Joe — were  you  pickled ?" 

I  had  got  the  ugly  part  of  my  story  told  to  my  thinking — and 
I  was  boy  enough  to  enjoy  telling  the  remainder. 

"  Oh  no !     I  wasn't  pickled.     I  got  off  by  fighting " 

" What— fighting  the  whole  lot?" 

"  No — it's  like  this — you  can  be  pickled,  or  you  can  fight  another 
boy  bigger  than  yourself.  I  chose  Spendergrass  primus,  to  pay 
him  out  for  complaining.  And  as  soon  as  he  had  time  to  get  all 
right  after  old  Lasher,  we  fought  behind  the  Cloister — that's  where 
they  fight — and  I  had  a  black  eye,  and  he  had  two  teeth  loosened. 
But  the  dentist  said  they  would  tighten  in  again,  and  it  didn't 
matter.  Oh,  Lossie,  don't  cry !  " 

For  Lossie  was  crying,  though  she  said  she  wasn't.  "  It's  only 
the  dazzle  of  the  sun,"  she  said.  "  There  must  be  a  rainbow 
somewhere  behind  us — look  at  the  drops  on  the  grass,  how  they 
sparkle  like  diamonds!"  But  it  hadn't  been  a  rain-drop  that  I 
saw  fall  on  the  hair  bracelet.  However,  Lossie  cleared  up  like  the 
April  shower,  and  the  sun  shone  again. 

"Boys  are  all  alike,"  said  she.  "You  were  just  like  Nolly 
when  he  went  to  Eton,  before  you  went  away  in  January.  And 
now  you're  just  like  him  at  the  end  of  his  first  term.  You  know, 
Joe,  you  wouldn't  have  told  me  all  these  horrors  if  I  hadn't 
pumped  you  so.  But  I  won't  blow  you  up,  dear,  so  you  needn't  be 
frightened.  Let's  follow  them  on  to  the  Spaniards." 

For  we  had  stopped  during  this  conversation  at  the  Scotch 
Firs  at  the  edge  of  the  Heath.  Lossie  had  sat  down  on  a  wooden 
seat  while  we  talked,  and  I  had  been  making  little  heaps  of  sand 
and  fir-cones  at  the  knotty  exposed  root  of  a  fir-tree  close  by.  I 
never  see  a  fir-cone  now  without  thinking  of  that  afternoon  at 
Hampstead. 

"  I  don't  think  Eton  can  be  half  as  bad  as  this  horrible  place 
where  you  are,  Joe,"  said  Lossie,  as  we  started  again.  "Nolly 
never  told  me  anything  like  what  you  have  to-day — I  should  like 
to  murder  that  abominable  old  what's-his-name  ? " 

"What,  old  Lasher!"  said  I.  "Why,  old  Lasher!  He's  really 
not  half  bad,  when  you  come  to  know  him." 

"  Well,  then — that  Mr.  Packer  that  got  you  flogged  by  telling 
a  lie  about  you.  I  certainly  should  like  to  murder  him.  Come 
now,  Joe,  say  you  hate  him!" 


122  JOSEPH   VANCE 

"Hate  old  Packer?"  said  I.  "Fancy  any  one  hating  old 
Packer!  But  of  course  his  trousers  are  too  tight,  and  he's  rather 
an  Ass " 

Lossie  had  a  laugh  for  this,  and  I  felt  we  were  getting  to  rights 
again.  "  Bother  old  Packer's  tight  trousers,"  said  she.  "  Didn't 
I  say  so  before,  and  you  make  me  say  it  again?  But  now — how 
about  the  other  boy?  Don't  you  hate  him?" 

"  What,  Spendergrass  ? "  cried  I,  and  my  surprise  was  real,  find- 
ing vent  in  a  quite  extravagant  amount  of  accent  on  his  first 
syllable.  "  Why,  Spendergrass  is  going  to  ask  his  Governor  to  ask 
me  down  to  Princes  Kisborough  in  June — Larkshall's  his  Gov- 
ernor's country  house.  We  had  no  end  of  a  spree,  him  and  me, 
etc.,  etc."  And  I  was  glad  to  get  on  to  a  narrative  of  this  spree, 
and  thus  to  avoid  further  revelations  of  school-discipline.  But 
Lossie  was  very  absent,  and  didn't  seem  to  profit  by  it.  She  in- 
terrupted me  suddenly  at  a  most  critical  and  interesting  crisis  in 
the  spree — 

"But,  Joe  dear,  I  do  want  to  know — are  they  going  on  like 
this  with  you  always?  Never  mind  about  how  you  blacked  their 
noses  with  cork  now — you  can  tell  me  that  after.  Suppose 
you're  at  school  there  three  or  four  years,  won't  it  get  any 
better?" 

"Oh,  it's  all  right !  Besides,  any  pupil  they  think  they  can  run 
for  the  Thurtell  Scholarship  they  let  off  easily — because  they  don't 
want  to  upset  him  and  spoil  his  chances." 

Lossie  stopped  and  looked  round  at  me  with  an  expression  of 
bewilderment. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Joe,  that  when  a  boy  isn't  trying  for  any 
Scholarship,  or  what  would  bring  credit  to  the  school — because 
that's  the  idea,  I  suppose  ? " 

"Yes— that's  the  idea.  The  Thurtell  sends  a  boy  to  Oxford, 
and  if  he  distinguishes  himself  of  course  that  brings  more  pupils 
to  St.  Withold's." 

"  Well,  then — that  then,  they  do  want  to  upset  him  and  spoil  his 
chances  ? " 

"Oh,  no!  At  least,  that's  not  the  way  to  put  it.  It's  the 
system!" 

"What's  the  system?" 

"  Well !     The  system  Dr.  Lasher  was  brought  up  in." 

"And  I  don't  think,"  said  Lossie,  "that  Dr.  Lasher  would  do 
any  credit  to  Pandemonium,  which  is  the  same  system,  I  should 
say." 

"  But  please,  Lossie,  you  won't  tell  the  Doctor  all  this " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  123 

"There  they  are  on  in  front  stopping  for  us!  Come  along, 
Joe!" 

Whether  the  Doctor  was  told,  I  never  knew,  but  of  one  effect 
which  this  conversation  would  have  (and  did  have)  I  felt  as  cer- 
tain at  the  time  as  if  Lossie  had  put  her  intentions  into  words — 
namely,  that  Joey  Thorpe  would  never  go  to  a  public  school.  For 
the  Doctor  would  never  run  counter  to  any  wish  of  Lossie's.  And 
I  am  sure  that  she  for  her  part  believed  that  what  was  true  of  St. 
Withold  was  very  nearly  true,  if  not  quite,  of  all  public  schools. 
This  was  encouraged  by  Nolly's  obvious  reticence  about  Eton, 
which  was  in  truth  nothing  but  the  natural  attitude  of  a  boy  to- 
wards his  sister.  Had  Lossie  been  my  own  sister  I  doubt  if  I 
should  have  told  her  all  I  did.  It  turns  on  a  very  singular  nuance 
of  a  boy's  character — the  one  which  decides  what  he  will  or  will 
not  consider  to  be  sneaking.  Perhaps  as  long  as  he  realizes  there 
are  such  things  as  meanness  and  the  reverse,  it  does  not  so  much 
matter  how  much  his  germ  of  a  brain  muddles  the  details.  But 
that  this  particular  confusion  exists,  that  it  is  unmanly  to  reveal 
school  secrets  to  sisters,  I  am  convinced.  Obviously  it  would  have 
been  easier  for  me  to  confess  (to  Spendergrass,  for  instance)  that 
I  had  told  all  that  story  to  Miss  Lucilla  Thorpe,  than  for  him  to 
tell  me  he  had  told  it  to  his  sister. 

Anyhow,  Lossie  evidently  got  the  idea  that  she  had  seen  through 
me  into  the  secrets  of  school-life,  and  that  Nolly  could  have  told 
similar  tales  had  he  chosen.  And  from  this  it  came  about  that 
Master  Joey  passed  through  a  curriculum  of  day-schools  and 
private  tutors  instead  of  having  his  character  formed  on  orthodox 
lines. 

We  got  back  just  in  time  to  avoid  a  shower,  and  then  it  became 
clear  that  what  it  is  nowadays  right  to  call  the  trend  of  events 
was  in  the  direction  of  my  stopping  the  night  at  The  Limes. 
For  there  is  a  class  specially  favoured  of  Heaven,  a  sort  of  Chosen 
People,  who  always  catch  'buses  before  you  do;  who  get  in  at  the 
Pit  and  Galleries  of  Theatres  before  the  doors  are  opened;  who 
monopolize  standing-room,  and  remain  inert  and  immovable  in 
sitting-room;  who  succeed  in  seeing  Races  while  you  have  to  be 
satisfied  with  coat-tails  and  bustles.  This  class  is  of  no  age,  no 
sex,  no  profession;  in  fact  has  no  qualities  whatever,  except  that 
of  being  Somebody  Else.  It  is  suspected  of  chuckling  inwardly 
over  your  discomfiture,  but  otherwise  is  without  passions.  It  was 
agreed  at  The  Limes  that  this  class  would  be  sure  to  have  taken 
all  the  places  in  the  'bus  long  before  I  got  there,  and  that  this 
was  equally  true  of  all  dates  of  arrival.  So  it  was  determined  that 


124  JOSEPH   VANCE 

I  should  stay  the  night,  and  I  did.  Surmises  whether  my  Father 
would  be  anxious  struck  me  as  an  odd  attribute  of  high  respecta- 
bility when  I  thought  to  myself  how  different  things  were  in  our 
old  days  before  the  Building  Trade  was  dreamed  of!  My  Father 
was  often  away  all  night  without  notice  given,  and  my  Mother 
postponed  belief  in  disaster  quite  contentedly. 

Some  young  friends  from  close  by  were  elicited  by  a  three- 
cornered  note  from  Sarita,  and  we  spent  a  pleasant  evening  play- 
ing Pope  Joan.  It  is  a  good  game,  and  the  board  can  be  spun 
round  and  round  rapidly,  which  seems  to  me  to  give  it  an  advan- 
tage over  other  card-games  with  no  boards.  Incidentally,  I  may 
note  that  I  very  early  deserted  cards  for  chess,  and  never  went 
back. 

The  Spencer  family  was  a  very  late  family  in  the  morning 
apparently,  for  Lossie  and  I  got  the  best  part  of  an  hour  before 
any  of  them  were  visible.  I  really  thought  all  the  water  in  the 
urn  on  the  sideboard  would  evaporate  before  an  authentic  tea- 
maker  appeared,  so  impatient  did  it  become.  In  fact,  it  once 
suddenly  became  quite  snappish,  owing  to  strained  relations  with 
its  naphtha-lamp,  and  had  to  be  soothed.  This  done,  our  conversa- 
tion went  on  at  the  point  of  interruption : — 

"I'm  sure  your  Mother  won't  mind  it,  Joe,  when  once  she  gets 
a  little  into  the  way.  And  you  know,  after  all,  she  won't  have  to 
work  so  hard  as  she  has  done." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  it  '11  be  all  right."  For  of  course  at  that  early 
date  everything  was  always  going  to  be  all  right.  "  My  Father 
says  if  the  cook  or  the  housemaid  are  bounceable,  he'll  square  them 
up  sharp,  and  send  them  packing  in  double-quick  time." 

"  My  dear  boy,  that's  not  the  difficulty.  Anybody  can  get  rid 
of  servants.  They  are  not  limpets  or  leeches.  The  trouble  is  to 
find  the  new  ones.  And  your  Mother  will  have  to  do  that." 

I  felt  I  was  in  the  presence  of  superior  knowledge  of  the  subject, 
so  when  I  repeated  again  that  Father  thought  it  would  be  all  right, 
I  avoided  details  for  fear  of  another  destructive  criticism. 

"  My  upstairs  Joey,"  said  Lossie,  inventing  an  expression  to 
cover  existing  facts,  "  was  snoring  when  I  went  in  to  see — at  least 
he  would  have  been  snoring,  if  he'd  been  Aunty.  I  wasn't  going 
to  wake  him,  breakfast  or  np,  and  I  shall  hear  him  move,  down 
here.  We're  just  underneath." 

"You  didn't  tell  me  what  the  Doctor  said,"  said  I,  referring 
back  to  a  prse-kettle-boiling  stage  of  the  conversation. 

"  Said  you  would  be  sure  to  choose  for  yourself  when  you  were 
old  enough — that  you  could  go  into  your  Father's  business  just 


JOSEPH  VANCE  125 

the  same  for  the  next  three  or  four  years.  And  you  had  better 
have  the  full  advantage  of  your  schooling.  You  may  get  the 
Thurtell  Scholarship,  you  know " 

"  And  what  did  Father  say  ? " 

"  Said  the  berth  would  always  be  wacant  for  the  Nipper,  and 
you  certainly  did  seem  to  have  an  aptitood  for  the  Clarsicks." 
From  which  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  any  disrespect  was  meant 
to  my  Father;  as  the  fact  is  Lossie  and  I  were  so  confidential 
that  we  made  no  bones  of  comparing  notes  about  our  seniors' 
individualities.  But  lines  were  drawn.  Lossie  would  never  have 
mimicked  my  Mother's  pronunciation  any  more  than  I  should  the 
Doctor's.  I  was  very  free  in  the  matter  of  Aunt  Izzy. 

"  I  say,  Lossie,"  said  I. 

"What,  Joe?" 

"  Which  do  you  think  your  Governor  would  really  like  best  ? " 

"  Well,  dear,  you  know  what  Papa  is !  Of  course  as  he  happened 
to  be  able  to  give  you  his  Nomination,  or  whatever  they  call  it, 
at  this  horrible  genteel  Wackford  Squeerses,  why,  he  would  like 
you  to  have  the  full  benefit  of  it,  and  perhaps  go  up  to  the  Uni- 
versity. But  I'm  sure  if  he  knew  how  Dr.  Lasher  went  on " 

I  stopped  Lossie  with  a  voluble  disclaimer.  Dr.  Lasher  was  the 
most  awfully  jolly  old  boy,  and  the  System  was  the  most  awfully 
jolly  old  System,  and  St.  Withold  was  the  most  awfully  jolly  of 
old  Saints.  Heaven  forbid  that  Lossie  should  draw  any  opposite 
conclusions  from  what  I  told  her  yesterday.  I  ascribed  a  great 
liberality  to  St.  Withold  on  the  ground  that  I  had  not  hesitated  to 
tell  so  much  about  him,  suggesting  that  Nolly  could  tell  a  lot 
worse  things  about  Eton  if  he  chose.  It  was  just  the  same  in  all 
other  schools,  only  heaps  worse,  and  the  boys  wouldn't  tell.  In 
fact,  I  did  all  I  could  to  erase  the  impression  I  had  given,  seeing 
the  matter  now  in  its  relation  to  a  possible  disappointment  for  Dr. 
Thorpe.  I  sternly  resolved  in  my  own  mind  that,  whatever  night- 
mare of  the  Saint's  fiancee's  nine-fold  brood  should  dominate  my 
school-dream,  nothing  on  earth  should  wring  a  complaint  from 
me  about  it.  For  the  future  all  should  be  silence. 

I  also  perceived  that  Lossie  would  be  more  likely  to  tell  her 
Governor  nothing  about  what  I  had  revealed  if  I  laid  stress  on  the 
Oxford  possibility.  I  was  able  in  this  connection  to  produce 
evidence  of  favourable  predictions  about  myself  in  the  school 
though  it  was  only  my  first  term.  Capp  tertius  had  overheard  a 
conversation  about  me,  and  a  wager  laid  by  no  less  a  person  than 
Mr.  Packer  of  the  tight  trousers ; — that  if  I  stopped  on  long  enough 
I  should  get  the  Thurtell,  and  end  with  a  double-first  at  Oxford. 


126  JOSEPH   VANCE 

I  told  this  to  Lossie,  and  Mr.  Packer  seemed  to  go  up  in  her  good 
opinion. 

"  Well  then,  Joe,"  said  she.  "  That's  how  it's  to  be !  I  shan't 
tell  Papa  about  the  School,  and  I  hope  you'll  be  let  off  easy  next 
term.  And  you'll  be  a  double-first,  won't  you  ? " 

How  very  curious  some  common  figures  of  speech  are,  if  you 
think  of  them  seriously!  Why  on  earth  should  I  have  asked 
Lossie  in  reply  if  that  wouldn't  be  a  lark?  That  was  my  com- 
ment, but  I  got  no  answer.  For  Sarita  Spencer  came  downstairs 
in  a  hurry,  pretending  she  had  never  been  behind  time  on  any 
previous  occasion.  I  wasn't  able  to  tell  myself  exactly  why  I 
wondered  that  Miss  Sarry  should  be  so  well  kissed  on  both  sides 
by  Lossie  when  she  entered  the  room  in  the  hurry  aforesaid,  but 
I  perceived  a  fitness  in  the  equilibrium,  owing  to  her  resemblance 
to  the  isosceles  triangle.  Had  Lossie  kissed  one  side  only,  I 
should  have  felt  that  she  had  got  slightly  scalene.  For  every- 
thing Lossie  did  left  an  effect  behind  it,  for  me!  This  may  seem 
nonsense,  but  it  is  to  my  mind  true,  and  I  am  not  writing  this 
for  the  general  public. 

"Good-morning,  Master  Vance,"  said  Sarry,  and  proceeded  to 
make  the  tea,  to  the  great  gratification  and  relief  of  the  kettle, 
the  extinction  of  whose  lamp  was  like  a  Proclamation  of  Peace. 
"  Five  because  Mamma  never  takes  tea,  and  one  for  the  Pot,  six. 
Now  I  can  see  about  your  omnibus.  What's  the  clock  in  the 
passage?  Twenty  minutes  to  nine — it  must  be  fast!  Bakewell! 
Bakewell !  What's  the  time  by  the  kitchen  clock  ? "  A  reply  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  answered  this  enquiry  over  the  stair-rail 
outside.  "I  thought  it  was  fast — twenty-five  minutes!  Papa 
must  put  it  back  next  time  Mamma  goes  out,  because  he  won't 
push  the  minute-hand  back,  and  it  goes  round  and  round  and 
strikes  every  time  and  gets  on  Mamma's  nerves.  Let's  see!  Stop 
a  minute!  You  can't  catch  the  half -past  nine  'bus  now.  You 
might  get  the  ten-o'clock  one — would  that  do  ? " 

"  He  can  catch  any  'bus,"  said  Lossie,  "  if  they  go  every  half- 
hour — can't  you,  Joe?" 

"  Now,  isn't  that  just  like  Lossie  ? "  said  Sarita. 

"What's  like  Lossie?"  said  Mr.  Spencer,  appearing.  "Good- 
morning,  Lossie!  What  is  it  that  is  like  Miss  Lucilla  Thorpe? " 

"  Saying  boys  can  catch  any  omnibus  because  they  go  every 
half-hour,"  said  Sarry,  rather  cutting  her  father  off  short.  Mr. 
Spencer's  method  of  receiving  this  was  legal  and  irritating. 

"  My  young  friend  here,"  said  he,  "  appears  to  me  to  be  only  one 
boy.  Am  I  to  understand  that  all  boys  go  every  half -hour  ? " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  127 

"Nonsense,  Papa,  you  know  what  I  mean  quite  well!  Grizzle 
dear  (for  Grizzle  was  appearing),  ask  over  the  stairs  if  these  are 
our  eggs." 

"  If  you  and  Grizzle  don't  know,  how  can  you  expect  the  cook  to 
know  ?  "  said  Mr.  Spencer.  And  Sarry  said,  "  Well,  for  the  life  of 
me  I  can't  tell  what  you're  all  laughing  at."  Because  we  were 
laughing.  And  we  didn't  laugh  less  when  Grizzle  came  in,  saying, 
"Bakewell  says  they  are  our  eggs."  But  Sarry  didn't  seem  any 
the  wiser,  and  reverted  to  the  omnibus.  I  checkmated  this 
vehicle  by  a  remark  I  had  been  waiting  to  make,  to  the  effect  that 
I  intended  to  walk  all  the  way.  Clearly  then  there  was  nothing  to 
arrange,  and  Lossie  said,  "You  silly  boy,  you  might  just  as  well 
have  said  so  at  once!" 

It  was  some  time  after  this  when  I  was  just  going  to  say  good- 
bye and  start,  that  Sarry  was  taken  with  a  fit  of  laughter  that 
threatened  serious  consequences.  "  Oh,  Lossie  dear,"  she  said, 
after  recovering  respiration,  "  it  was  because  I  saw  what  Papa 
meant  all  of  a  sudden !  Just  as  if  Grizzle  and  I  were  hens !  " 

Lossie  started  with  me  to  show  me  the  shortest  way.  We  talked 
about  Sarita.  I  was  emphatic  in  my  approbation,  and  couldn't 
repeat  too  often  that  the  young  lady  was  awfully  jolly.  But  in 
spite  of  this  I  remember  then  wondering  at  Lossie's  adoration  of 
her.  And  as  she  scarcely  comes  into  this  narrative  except  as  a 
recipient  of  a  number  of  letters  which  afterwards  passed  into  my 
possession,  and  which  I  now  have  here,  it  is  only  this  inability  to 
account  for  Lossie  that  has  made  me  piece  together  my  scraps  of 
recollection  of  Sarry,  so  as  to  obtain  if  possible  some  light  on  the 
problem  of  her  fascination.  For  myself,  I  never  could  understand 
it;  but  probably  every  one  else  was  right  and  I  was  wrong. 

I  said  good-bye  to  Lossie,  and  started  for  home;  very  glad  to 
have  avoided  any  more  about  St.  Withold's. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

JOE'S  FATHER'S  HAT  AGAIN.    AND  HOW  HIS  MOTHER  DIED.    A  LETTER 
OP  LOSSIE  WRITTEN  A  YEAR  AFTER.    OF  HIS  FATHER'S  GRIEF  AND 

HIS  OWN — THE  STORY  OF  HIS  FATHER'S  COURTSHIP  TOLD  TO  JOE 

OF  THE  PURE  CAIRN  MAGORRACHAN  MOUNTAIN  DEW,  AND  HOW  JOE 
LAY  AWAKE  BECAUSE  OF  THE  SAME. 

ON  re-reading  a  passage  of  this  MS.  I  perceived  that  I  had 
after  all,  in  the  face  of  my  own  protest,  dismissed  my  Father's 
Hat  with  too  short  and  disrespectful  a  notice.  I  am,  you  see,  an 
old  stager,  and  to  me  the  whole  of  the  Past  presents  itself  as  one 
huge  shiny  stovepipe  Hat,  with  Proletarians  and  Roturiers  crawl- 
ing round  it  on  their  stomachs  in  abject  abasement.  I  am  told 
that  new  readings  of  the  Book  of  Life  have  been  sanctioned  by 
the  Authorities,  whoever  they  are,  and  that  a  Bank  Director  has 
been  seen  in  a  billycock !  But  I  cannot  nerve  myself  to  accepting 
such  a  state  of  things  on  hearsay,  and  must  stick  to  the  memories 
of  boyhood. 

I  refer  again  to  this  Hat  (observe  that  I  always  give  it  a 
capital),  not  with  any  hope  of  doing  it  justice,  but  because  it  was 
an  outward  and  visible  sign  of  a  changed  order  of  things.  Dur- 
ing the  whole  of  the  period  between  my  first  experience  of  Lossie, 
and  her  letter  (which  I  am  coming  to),  my  Father  was  what  is 
described  in  English,  and  in  English  only,  as  sober.  In  other 
countries  people  are  normal,  or  drunk.  In  England  an  abnormal 
condition  demands  the  adjective  sober,  and  occasionally  gets  it. 
The  change,  which  had  been  procured  by  the  simple  incident  of 
two  months'  enforced  abstention,  was  little  less  than  promotion  to 
Paradise  for  my  Mother.  I  myself  felt  it  more  through  my  rela- 
tion with  her  than  in  any  other  way.  For  to  me  whatever  my 
Father  did  was  right.  Had  his  drunkenness  led  to  brutality  to 
my  Mother,  or  myself,  it  might  have  been  otherwise.  But  it 
showed  itself  almost  entirely  in  Bacchanalianism  proper,  and 
fights  with  equivalent  males  of  his  own  species. 

I  cannot  quite  bring  myself  to  write  that  in  the  Hat  period  my 
Mother  became  kinder  to  me.  It  would  imply  a  previous  un- 
kindness.  That  would  be  false.  But  there  was  a  sort  of  dif- 

128 


JOSEPH   VANCE  129 

ference  between  her  two  forms  of  kindness.  I  suppose  the  with- 
drawal of  a  cause  of  anxiety  gave  her  more  license  to  spoil  me» 
Or  was  it  my  new  position  ?  I  don't  think  it  was.  I  think  it  was 
that  the  happier  she  was,  the  more  motherly  she  could  be.  Have 
you  never  seen  women  of  her  surroundings,  whose  brutal  males 
and  sordid  lives  have  made  them  cruel  to  their  children  ?  If  there 
was  any  trace  of  this  in  my  Mother,  it  disappeared  at  the  Hat 
transition,  and  left  her  what  I  remember  her  when  I  started  to 
go  back  to  school  at  the  end  of  that  happiest  of  fortnights  at 
home. 

"Good-bye,  my  precious  darling  boy,  good-bye !"  said  she.  And 
I  said  my  say  of  farewells,  and  ended  with  "  Now  cut  away  in- 
doors, or  you'll  get  your  cough  worse."  For  she  was  coughing  a 
good  deal.  And  then  my  Father  said,  "  Cough  '11  be  all  right,  if 
the  dam  doctor  will  go  and  'ang  himself.  There's  nothing  amiss 
with  the  cough." 

Here  is  the  letter  of  Lossie,  written  more  than  two  years  later. 

"POPLAR  VILLA,  Sept.,  1854. 

"  I  wonder  why  it  is,  dear,  that  I  always  deluge  you  with  letters 
in  September.  No,  I  don't — I  mean  I  don't  wonder.  Because 
September  in  London  is  such  a  nice  peace  and  quiet  time.  The 
leaves  blow  about  and  Violet  goes  to  stay  with  friends  in  the  coun- 
try, and  if  we're  in  London  at  all  I'm  left  alone  with  Papa  and 
Joey,  and  look  after  the  housekeeping  myself  instead  of  Aunty. 

"  One  does  feel  so  brutal  when  one  finds  it  such  a  relief  to  get 
rid  of  one's  family.  One  is  really  very  fond  of  them,  but  say  what 
one  will  it  is  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air  to  get  what  poor  Joe  Vance's 
father  calls  *  shet  o'  the  whole  bilinV  The  only  section,  or  segment 
or  drop  (I  don't  know  how  a  bilin*  is  divided)  that  I  have  any 
cause  to  find  fault  with  is  poor  dear  Aunty.  She's  gone  to  a 
Congress  of  an  Association  for  the  Promotion  or  Suppression  of 
some  Virtue  or  Vice,  I'm  not  sure  which!  She's  an  Honorary 
Secretary,  and  some  big  bundles  have  come  from  the  printer — 
but  they  must  be  forwarded  at  once  or  I  would  open  one  and  get 
out  a  Prospectus  to  send  you.  How  ever  the  Society  can  get  along 
with  an  Honorary  Secretary  who  has  an  ear-trumpet  I  don't  know ! 
However,  Papa  says  he  knows  of  an  acting  Secretary  of  a  leading 
Institute  in  London  who  is  stone  deaf  but  in  receipt  of  £500  a 
year!  But  then  he  reads  the  Times  all  day  long  and  never  inter- 
feres in  the  business  of  the  office,  and  I  am  sure  Aunty  never 
didn't  interfere  with  anything.  However,  I  really  ought  to  be 


130  JOSEPH  VANCE 

deeply  thankful  now  she's  taken  up  Homoeopathy.  Papa  says 
Homoeopathy  is  '  an  Allotropic  form  of  letting  other  people's  in- 
sides  alone/  and  really  before  it  turned  up  she  was  trying.  Be- 
cause there  was  no  way  of  heading  her  off,  or  escaping  diagnosis  at 
the  hands  of  Dr.  Hillyer  except  taking  an  eighth  part  of  any  bottle 
that  hadn't  been  emptied,  no  matter  what,  as  a  compromise.  She 
always  smelt  it  and  confirmed  its  efficacy  from  recollection,  also 
remembering  the  principal  ingredients,  '  It's  that  nice  prescription 
of  Dr.  Hillyer's.  It's  only  a  little  Ammonia  and  Chlorodyne  and 
Gentian  and  Bark,  and  nothing  that  can  possibly  hurt.  And  of 
course  you  won't  mind  me,  dear,  no  one  does!  But  I'm  sure  you 
ought  either  to  take  something  or  let  Dr.  Hillyer  see  you.'  It 
really  was  just  like  that,  and  now  it  is  better  a  deal — that  is  to  say, 
one  escapes  being  poisoned,  but  the  embarrassment  of  having  to 
shout  one's  symptoms  on  the  stairs  or  other  public  places  is  rather 
increased  than  otherwise.  Because  she  has  got  a  precious  and 
infallible  work  called  'Jahr's  Handbuch,'  which  Papa  calls  the 
Valetudinarian's  Delight,  and  which  bristles  with  symptoms  which 
would  make  one  envious  of  leprosy  if  one  had  them.  She  stopped 
me  a  little  while  ago  just  as  I  was  going  into  the  street,  with  Jahr 
in  her  hand,  to  enquire  whether  the  following  described  my  case — 
'  Itching  in  the  nostrils.  Titillation  in  the  membranes  of  the 
nasal  canal.  Sensation  as  of  centipedes  on  the  occiput,  or  of  a  large 
heavy  object  in  the  glottis,  accompanied  with  wheezing,  snoring,  or 
choking.  Incessant  sneezing.  Metempsychosis  and  Asphyxia. 
Tendency  to  jump,  start  and  use  bad  language.  Sensation  of  a 
swarm  of  bees  in  the  larynx.  Caryatids.'  That's  just  exactly  what 
she  read  very  loud  to  me  and  a  policeman's  back,  standing  at  our 
gate — all  except  the  medical  terms,  some  of  which  I  have  forgotten. 
Don't  you  think  my  substitutes  elegant?  You  may  fancy  what 
this  work  reads  like  when  it  is  necessary  to  choose  between  Silicea 
and  Carbo  Vegetabilis  for  my  greedy  little  brother,  when  he  has  in- 
dulged too  freely  in  the  pleasures  of  the  table.  Of  course  I  always 
say  the  symptoms  are  exactly  right,  and  in  the  above  case  laid 
special  claim  to  the  sensation  of  a  swarm  of  bees,  and  when  I  came 
back  from  posting  my  letter  found  two  tumblers  of  the  weakest 
possible  grog  with  paper  over  them — one  teaspoonful  every  four 
hours  of  each,  alternately.  She  makes  some  concession  to  my 
feelings  on  the  subject  of  High  Dilutions,  and  (at  great  risk  to 
myself,  she  says)  allows  me  to  have  Mother-Tinctures.  Hence  the 
Alcohol,  which  has  the  same  relation  to  real  Grog  that  a  glass  of 
water  too  often  has  to  beer,  owing  to  previous  associations  and 
ineffectual  dry  rubs. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  131 

"  I  wouldn't  nag  on  this  way  at  poor  Aunty,  only  she  really  did 
aggravate  Papa  and  me  so  when  poor  Mrs.  Vance  was  dying. 
You  must  have  seen  her  here — indeed,  I  am  sure  you  did,  a  twelve- 
month since — and  she  said  that  as  soon  as  ever  easy  circumstances 
permitted  she  should  go  and  have  a  breath  of  sea-air.  And  you 
fancied  she  meant  that  funds  were  low,  and  I  knew  better  and  ex- 
plained. She  was  a  dear  good  woman,  and  we  never  could  get 
her  to  give  up  calling  me  Miss  Lucilla  and  Aunty  Ma'am,  and  in- 
sisting on  standing  up  till  she  was  actually  pushed  into  a  chair. 
She  was  Joe  Vance's  mother,  you  know,  and  we  were  all  grieved  to 
lose  her.  And  I  daresay  Aunty  meant  well — indeed,  I'm  sure 
she  did — but  really  to. expect  her  to  see  a  Homoeopathic  Physician 
secretly  and  take  clandestine  globules  was  too  much!  And  then 
to  go  and  tell  Papa  that  Mrs.  Vance  was  really  yearning  for  the 
globules  and  said  that  they  were  the  only  things  that  did  any  good, 
and  that  it  was  all  the  hard  incredulity  of  that  Sadducee  of  a  hus- 
band of  hers  that  prevented  it!  Papa  actually  spoke  to  Joe's 
father  about  it,  but  it  wasn't  any  use,  because  Mr.  Vance  couldn't 
be  got  to  look  at  the  matter  from  any  point  of  view  except  its  rela- 
tion to  a  possible  turn-up,  or  set-to  between  Dr.  Hillyer  and  Mr. 
Knowles,  Aunty's  Homosopath,  in  his  back-garden.  He  seems  to 
have  caught  at  this  idea,  and  cherished  it,  for  happening  to  meet 
Mr.  Knowles  at  our  house  he  (having  just  heard  his  name)  addressed 
him  thus :  '  'Appy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Price.  When 
are  you  going  to  have  it  out  with  my  medical  attendant?  You're 
both  on  you  light  weights,  and  nothing  could  be  fairer!  Say  the 
word  and  I'll  make  the  ap'intment.'  Then  as  Aunty  would  not  let 
Papa  alone  about  it,  he  tried  speaking  to  Dr.  Hillyer  in  confidence, 
to  persuade  him  to  wink  at  some  sort  of  arrangement.  '  But,'  said 
Papa  to  me  after,  'Dr.  Hillyer  turned  purple  and  couldn't  articu- 
late, and  I  was  obliged  to  apologize  for  mentioning  it  and  gave  it 
up.'  Poor  Mr.  Vance — you  know  although  he's  so  prosperous  now, 
he's  entirely  ignorant  and  uneducated — he  hates  all  '  'oarspital 
carackters,'  as  he  calls  them,  and  says  the  minute  you  let  them 
feel  your  pulse,  orf  you  go  with  your  symptoms  and  then  you  may 
just  as  well  order  your  coffin  and  chuck  it! 

"I  began  writing  this  letter  meaning  to  tell  you  about  Vi  and 
her  young  German — I  really  do  think  it's  going  to  come  to  some- 
thing this  time  (here  follows  an  account  of  the  gentleman  to  whom 
Violet  was  engaged  at  this  date) 

"Vi  is  very  severe  with  me  for  never  being  engaged  at  all.  I 
have  explained  to  her  that  I  take  after  our  grandmothers,  who  had 
Admirers,  for  several  of  whom  they  had  a  True  Kegard,  and  one  of 


132  JOSEPH   VANCE 

whom  after  severe  probation  became  the  Man  of  their  Choice,  and 
if  all  went  well,  ultimately  became  our  Grandpapa.  She  says  it 
really  cannot  matter  now  what  girls  did  who  had  their  waists  under 
their  chins  and  no  crinoline,  and  ringlets,  nor  men  whose  trousers 
were  as  tight  as  stockings  and  who  had  little  tail-coats  and  frills 
to  their  shirts,  and  shaved  close  every  morning.  You  should  see 
her  crinolines — every  new  one  larger  than  the  last!  ....  I 
must  say  I  should  not  like  to  be  engaged  if  the  man  was  an  idiot, 
or  became  one,  and  I  felt  it  was  my  fault.  If  ever  I  am  I  mean  to 
keep  my  promise  and  tell  you  exactly  what  he  says  when  he  pro- 
poses, because  I  shall  refuse  him  civilly  if  he  says  anything  too 
silly  for  me  to  report.  What  an  interminable  long  letter  this  is 
getting ! 

"  Poor  darling  little  Joe  Vance !  It  was  just  heartbreaking  to 
see  him  when  his  mother  died.  But  I  did  all  I  could  to  console 
the  boy.  It  was  too  bad  of  that  horrible  old  fool  Capstick  to  try 
to  make  him  more  miserable  than  he  need  have  been.  I  wish  Joe's 
father  had  really  done  what  he  threatened — though  I  can't  quite 
make  out  what  it  was,  as  Joe  declines  to  repeat  his  Dad's  language ! 
I  am  not  surprised.  But  I  gather  that  Capstick  (who  is  an  ad- 
vanced disciple  of  the  Belief -at-Choice  School)  had  certainly  said 
to  Mr.  Vance,  *  When  you  get  to  Hell,  dear  Sir,  you'll  find  out  you 
could  have  believed  if  you  had  chosen.'  Fancy  his  talking  that 
way,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  boy,  too!  Such  a  nice  lad  he's 
growing  to  be,  and  simply  getting  on  like  wild-fire  with  his  studies. 
He  is  developing  a  strong  taste  for  mechanics,  and  threatens  to 
forget  all  his  classics  as  soon  as  he's  done  with  them.  .  .  . 
"  Your  ever  affectionate 

"LossiE  THORPE." 

I  had  read  through  many  letters  of  Lossie's  written  during  my 
early  schooldays,  among  the  contents  of  the  bundle  in  my  posses- 
sion, before  I  came  to  the  foregoing — but  none  containing  any- 
thing that  called  for  record  about  myself.  Briefly,  I  may  note 
that  in  these  letters  stories  about  my  namesake  Joey  become 
scarcer  and  almost  vanish — in  which  one  may  distinguish  that  his 
amusing  babyhood  is  giving  place  to  a  rather  wilful  and  selfish 
boyhood;  that  Vi  was  never  very  long  without  a  love-affair  on, 
but  that  they  never  took  substantial  form  and  purpose  until  the 
appearance  of  the  young  German;  that  Aunt  Izzy's  benevolent 
efforts  for  her  fellow-creatures  continued  without  the  slightest 
consideration  for  the  comfort  of  her  victims,  and  that  Lossie  her- 
self is  distinctly  growing  up  from  fifteen  to  nineteen.  But  there 


JOSEPH   VANCE  133 

chances  to  be  very  little  allusion  to  me  or  mine;  and  this  is 
made  reasonable  to  me  by  my  want  of  recollection  of  Sarita 
Spencer  during  this  particular  period.  She  could  only  have  had 
a  corresponding  impression  of  me,  so  it  was  natural  I  should  not 
occur  in  Lossie's  correspondence  with  her  until  some  new  chord 
was  sounded  in  what  a  striking  writer  (whose  name  I  have  for- 
gotten) calls  "  the  orchestration  of  our  joint  lives."  A  sad 
modulation,  into  a  minor  key,  was  pending  in  those  of  myself  and 
my  Father. 

For  before  two  years  were  completed  of  the  seven,  fourteen,  or 
twenty-one  years'  lease  of  his  new  house,  he  was  a  widower.  My 
Mother's  cough,  that  was  the  last  sound  I  heard  when  I  returned 
to  School  after  my  first  Easter  Holidays,  had  gone  on  for  more 
than  a  twelvemonth  on  a  tenancy  at  will — its  will! — promising 
each  week  to  go  next  week;  each  week  declaring  in  the  face  of 
evidence  that  it  was  a  little  better;  and  each  month  being  obliged 
to  admit  that  it  was  a  great  deal  worse.  When  I  returned  to 
School  for  the  second  Christmas  term  I  wore  a  new  suit  of  mourn- 
ing and  the  black  gloves  the  Undertaker  had  vouchsafed  to  me  at 
my  Mother's  funeral. 

How  well  I  remember  going  back  with  my  Father  to  his  lonely 
house;  and  as  soon  as  we  had  shaken  ourselves  free  of  the  mourn- 
ing coach  and  its  beery  satellites,  going  instinctively  to  the  little 
smoking  snuggery  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  to  avoid  the  sight  of 
all  the  expensive  furniture  which  he  had  purchased  more  and 
more  as  my  Mother's  illness  had  increased.  "  It  was  all  o'  no  use, 
Nipper  dear!"  said  he  to  me  as  he  closed  the  dining-room  door  in 
passing.  I  really  believe  he  thought  that  settees  covered  with 
Utrecht  velvet,  walnut  chiffoniers  with  curvilinear  marble  tops, 
buhl,  marqueterie,  ormolu,  and  so  forth  had  in  them  the  properties 
of  antidotes  to  pulmonary  disease.  He  had  looked  upon  himself 
and  the  Doctor  as  working  to  opposite  ends;  the  Doctor  to  com- 
passing my  Mother's  death  by  means  of  illegible  prescriptions,  and 
himself  to  counteracting  them  by  expensive  upholstery  from 
Tottenham  Court  Road.  The  Apothecary  he  regarded  as  an 
originally  sinless  tradesman  with  a  very  red  lamp,  misled  by  the 
said  prescriptions  into  conspiracies  against  health  and  life.  He 
certainly  ascribed  Death  to  doctors  and  nurses,  except  in  cases  of 
extreme  old  age.  Even  when  he  imputed  to  patients  that  their 
own  carelessness,  obstinacy,  and  neglect  of  his  advice  was  a  con- 
tributary  cause,  he  always  made  the  Nurse  and  Doctor  primarily 
responsible.  "If,"  said  he,  reproachfully,  "they'd  only  have  let 
her  enjy  herself  and  get  out  and  amongst  'em  and  have  a  hearty 


134  JOSEPH   VANCE 

laugh,  as  the  sayin'  is,  instead  of  their  stinkin'  prescriptions — 
she'd  have  done  well  enough!  As  if  I  didn't  know  your  Mother 
after  all  these  years !  " 

He  declined  the  too-late-for-lunch  meal  that  awaited  us  in  the 
dining-room,  saying  that  I  should  have  to  go  and  eat  something 
or — and  stopped  short  of  adding  that  my  Mother  would  be  dis- 
pleased. 

"  Never  mind,  Nipper,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  get  it  all  square  in 
time,"  meaning  that  he  would  get  to  realize  the  new  state  of 
things.  "  Help  me  off  with  this  here  coat,  and  ketch  hold  on  the 
hat,  and  we'll  have  a  peck  in  here,  and  a  pipe — at  least,  I  will. 
Young  shavers  like  you  don't  have  pipes."  He  subsided  into  the 
extensive  leather  armchair  with  brass  studs  which  was  his  special 
property;  and  leaving  me  to  justify  the  chops  which  the  slavey 
(as  he  called  her)  had  deflected  from  their  first  destination,  lit 
his  pipe  and  went  on  with  his  reflections. 

"All,  as  I  say,  o'  no  use,  Nipper!  Two  picters — engravings, 
I  should  say — after  Landseer — both  the  same  subject.  Proof  be- 
fore Letters  was  the  name  he  said,  though  I  can't  see  any  Letters 
in  the  picters  myself.  And  not  so  much  as  hung  in  their  places 
yet!  There's  the  picter-cord  waiting  all  ready,  ever  since  that 
day  I  told  you  when  she  let  the  slavey  bring  up  her  breakfast  to 
her  in  bed — that  was  the  day  after  I  carried  her  upstairs.  And 
I  didn't  have  'em  put  up  not  till  I  should  know  she  was  sure  to 
come  down  the  same  day,  or  they'd  have  told  her  and  she'd  have 
fretted  to  come  down  and  see  'em.  Very  fond  of  stags  she  was, 
and  saw  'em  in  Eichmond  Park;  and  that  was  why  I  bought  this 
picture  of  Proof  before  Letters.  It's  a  stag  in  the  water — 
you  saw  it?  Just  before  you  went  back  after  the  summer  holi- 
days." 

I  had  seen  it,  but  only  by  tilting  it  forward  and  looking  down 
at  it — not  the  best  way  of  seeing  pictures.  I  did  not  know  at  that 
time  what  a  proof  before  letters  was,  but  I  fancied  there  might 
have  been  some  mistake  in  taking  this  for  the  title.  It  didn't 
matter  then — nothing  mattered!  My  Father  continued: 

"Why,  I  met  her  in  Kichmond  Park,  the  very  first  time  ever 
I  saw  her.  I  was  along  of  a  young  gal  I  was  walking  out  with 
at  that  time,  by  name  Maria  Stevens.  I  believe  she  had  an 
operation  for  her  eyes  after  and  they  came  straight — squinted  then 
she  did,  at  the  time  I'm  a-thinkin'  of.  And  says  she,  'There's 
young  Cripps  and  his  young  woman — here  close  to  us/  says  she, 
'  what  are  you  a-staring  at  Wimbledon  Common  for  ?  >  And  says 
I,  '  She's  a  handsome  young  wench,  anyhow !' — For  I  tell  you,  Joe, 


JOSEPH  VANCE  135 

§ 

your  Mother  was  the  prettiest  girl  at  eighteen  I  ever  see,  before 
or  since." 

He  had  talked  himself  into  the  past,  and  remained  silent,  puff- 
ing at  his  pipe,  till  I  said,  "  Yes,  Daddy,  and  then  ?  " 

"  Oh— ah— yes,  it's  the  Nipper!  Where  was  I  a-telling?  To  be 
sure — '  She's  a  handsome  young  wench/  says  I,  '  anyhow ! '  And 
Maria  Stevens  she  tossed  her  head,  being,  as  you  might  say, 
miffed,  and  '  P'r'aps,'  says  she,  '  you'd  like  her  better  than  me  ? ' 
'  No,  Maria,'  says  I,  '  the  likes  of  her  is  not  for  the  likes  of  me.' 
'Ho,  that's  the  view  you  take,'  says  Maria,  and  just  flings  off  and 
leaves  me,  and  off  she  goes  to  your  mother  and  young  Cripps. 
We  was  all  young  together,  Joe,  you  know,"  said  my  Father, 
apologetically. 

"But  what  happened,  Daddy  dear?"  said  I.  "Did  Maria 
Stevens  come  back  ? " 

"  They  all  came  across  together,  and  young  Cripps  he  says  to 
me,  civil-like,  that  he'd  seen  me  at  the  private  bar  at  the  Goat  and 
Compasses.  And  whether  he  had  I  did  not  know — neither  do  I 
to  this  moment.  Maybe  he  had,  maybe  otherwise !  I  said  o'  coorse 
he  had.  Then  your  Mother  and  me  we  dropped  back,  for  the 
purpose  like  on  her  part,  but  I  was  a  little  afraid  of  her  at  first 
go-off.  '  Sorry  to  hear  you've  had  words,  Mr.  Vance,'  says  she. 
'Why,  you  see,'  says  I,  'she  took  me  up  so  short,  Miss  Stevens 
did.'  And  I  told  her  all  about  it.  And  then  your  Mother  says: 
'Well,  now — Mr.  Vance,  did  you  ever?  Only  to  think  what 
strange  coincidences  do  occur  when  not  looked  after' — (I  remember 
her  very  words).  'I  truly  assure  you  without  exaggeration  that 
that  very  expression  and  no  other  is  the  very  one  Reuben  Cripps 
made  use  of  relatin'  to  Miss  Stevens  the  minute  I  asked  him  if 
perhaps  he  wouldn't  prefer  her,  squint  and  all  ?  u  The  likes  of 
her  isn't  for  the  likes  of  me  " — only  fancy ! '  And  she  was  a-call- 
ing  out  to  them  all  about  it,  but  they'd  got  out  o'  hearing.  And  I 
never  see  either  of  'em  again  from  that  day  forward." 

According  to  my  belief,  youth  is  unsympathetic  in  all  matters, 
but  especially  in  its  feelings  towards  its  predecessors'  youth.  It 
looks  on  it  as  not  having  been  quite  the  genuine  article,  although 
it  may  have  seemed  so  at  the  time  to  previous  persons,  betrayed 
into  misapprehension  by  surrounding  circumstances.  I  cannot 
disguise  it  from  myself  now  that,  horribly  egotistical  as  it  seems, 
I  felt  only  a  qualified  interest  in  my  Father's  recollections.  Of 
course  I  affected  a  strong  one,  so  far  as  my  grief  left  life  in  me 
to  profess  anything;  but  I  would  quite  as  soon  have  indulged  it 
in  silence.  Yet  I  must  have  listened,  or  I  should  scarcely  recol- 


136  JOSEPH  VANCE 

lect  it  all  so  well.  It  is  odd,  but  for  all  the  many  years  that  I  am 
now  older  than  my  Father  was  then,  I  still  regard  him  as  a  genuine 
example  of  a  grown-up  person,  and  my  present  self  as  rather  an 
impostor  in  that  respect. — I  wonder  if  any  one  who  reads  this  will 
recognize  the  feeling? 

My  Father  smoked  on,  looking  at  the  fire,  when  he  finished 
speaking,  until  I  tried  to  say  something,  more  because  I  thought 
he  might  wish  to  go  on  talking  than  because  I  thought  I  should 
really  listen. 

"Poor  little  beggar,"  said  he.  "A  little  chap  mustn't  cry  his 
heart  out — come  here,  old  man !  Come  and  sit  on  this  here  knee — 
not  too  old  for  that  yet — hay,  boy?  But  don't  cry  like  that! 

Mother  wouldn't  like  it "  For  indeed  I  had  rather  broken 

down.  But  I  pulled  myself  together,  and  asked  where  he  and 
Mother  went  then.  It  seemed  as  good  a  thing  to  say  as  anything 
else. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  your  Mother  and  I  we  walked  about  the  Park 
looking  for  young  Cripps  and  Maria  Stevens,  or  pretended  to  it. 
And  I'll  be  bail  they  walked  about  and  made  believe  to  look  for 
we!  But  they  never  found  us,  nor  yet  we  them — and  I  warn't 
sorry.  And  she  warn't  sorry.  But  she  kep'  on  a-sayin':  'Dear 
me,  wherever  now  can  Reuben  Cripps  have  gone?  And  Miss 
Maria  Stevens?' — *Mr.  Cripps  is  'artily  welcome  to  my  share  of 
M'riar,'  says  I,  'as  long  as  he  don't  come  interrupting  other 
people.' — '  Then  you  mustn't  run  away  and  leave  me  alone,  Mr. 
Vance,'  says  your  Mother.  Nor  yet  I  didn't,  dear  Nipper.  I  saw 
her  home  safe  to  her  place — a  house  Bayswater  way,  where  she 
was  in  the  Nursery,  two  Nurses  being  kept.  But  I  didn't  go  right 
to  the  door  for  fear  the  upper  housemaid,  who  knew  Cripps,  should 
distinguish  me  out  from  him. 

"  I  was  then  in  the  market-gardening  out  Chiswick  way,  and 
very  nearly  lost  my  place  I  did  that  time,  owing  to  seeing  your 
Mother  home — and  having  to  walk  back  made  me  oversleep,  beside 
lyin'  awake  as  I  remember.  And  loadin'  up  for  Covent  Garden 
towards  Midsummer  is  early  work.  The  old  Governor  was  in  a 
tidy  rage! 

"  We  didn't  make  no  appointment  for  her  next  Sunday  out,  but 
she  mentioned  which  it  would  be,  and  that  any  one  who  came 
for  her  was  to  please  ask  for  Jane,  though  her  name  was  Ellen ;  she 
being  called  Jane  owing  to  two  Ellens  in  the  house  already  inside 
the  family.  I  didn't  ask,  but  she  saw  me  across  the  way.  And 
when  we  came  back  from  Greenwich  Park  that  afternoon,  she 
took  me  to  her  aunt's  to  make  me  reg'lar.  And  her  aunt  she 


JOSEPH  VANCE  137 

took  exception  to  me  for  not  being  Cripps.  And  Cripps  I 
wasn't ! — she  was  right  there. 

"  We  kept  company  a  long  while,  me  and  your  Mother,  before 
ever  we  thought  of  marrying — don't  know  exactly  what  we  should 
have  had  to  eat!  But  likewise  it  was  her  family,  where  she  was 
nursemaid,  seein'  that  the  little  girl,  Ellen,  couldn't  bear  to  part 
with  her,  nor  yet  she  with  the  child.  It  wasn't  till  she  died  three 
year  after  that  I  persuaded  your  Mother  to  marry.  And  then  we 
began  at  Stallwood's  Cottages.  I  wouldn't  mind  being  back  at 
Stallwood's  Cottages — I'd  try  to  make  her  happier  than  I  had 
used  to,  if  I  could  start  fair  again! 

"  No,  Nipper  dear,  I  know  she  never  complained — nor  likely  to, 
being  what  she  was.  But  I  wasn't  what  I  might  have  been,  and 
a  half -pint  was  often  enough  to  make  the  difference.  When  I 
married  your  Mother  I  was  as  steady  a  young  chap  as  you'd  need 
to  see  in  a  month  o'  Sundays.  But  I  got  upset  like,  and  I  remem- 
ber when  it  was.  Your  Mother  couldn't  come  to  time  after  her 
first,  and  me  going  away  early  and  Mrs.  Packles  often  coming  in 
late  (though  most  kind  and  considerate)  to  make  me  up  a  bit  of 
breakfast,  I  found  it  'andiest  to  swallow  half-a-pint  at  an  early 
house  on  the  way  to  work,  and  not  to  be  fussin'  about  eatables. 
If  I  had  chanced  to  have  an  illness  I  might  have  got  knocked  off 
the  habit  again,  but  I  hadn't  the  luck,  and  it  grew  on  me  and  got 
worse,  and  your  dear  Mother  she  had  a  tryin'  time." 

My  Father  smoked  in  silence  for  a  while  with  his  eyes  on  the 
fire,  as  mine  were.  It  was  a  fine  oily  coal,  and  made  beautiful 
gas  volcanoes,  budding  out  tar  for  lava.  We  both  watched  one  of 
these  until  it  blew  itself  out  with  its  own  efforts,  and  suddenly 
became  a  jet  of  smoke  coming  straight  into  the  room. 

"  Give  it  a  knock  with  the  poker,  Nipper,"  said  he.  And  when 
I  had  done  so,  and  the  broken  lump  of  best  Wallsend,  selected, 
had  risen  to  the  occasion  and  given  a  splendid  blaze,  he  went  on: 

"It  wasn't  that  I  was  in  any  ways  like  Packles,  or  sim'lar  to 
him  for  the  matter  o'  that.  I  expect  you  was  too  young,  Joey,  to 
remember  Packles  being  bound  over,  in  consideration  of  violence 
to  Mrs.  P.,  and  offering  resistance  to  the  Police  ? " 

Oh  dear,  yes!  I  remembered  all  about  it — and  the';  even  at  my 
early  age  (six,  I  think)  I  had  been  impressed  by  the  unnecessary 
sensitiveness  of  the  Police  force,  Mr.  Packles  having  been  easily 
carried  away — one  might  almost  say  wafted — by  a  giant  in  a  blue 
uniform,  who  bore  him  off  to  retribution  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck 
at  arm's  length,  as  though  he  had  been  a  cat. 

"Fancy  the  Nipper  recollecting  that!    Then  Til  be  bail  you 


138  JOSEPH  VANCE 

can  recollect — but  in  coorse  you  can  recollect — all  about  the  Sweep 
I  got  the  worse  by  over  the  Canal  Bridge  by  Collyer's  Rents? 
Somewhiles  I  think  to  myself  I'd  like  to  be  even  with  that  Sweep, 
somewhiles  that  I  ought  to  make  him  a  handsome  consideration. 
For  it  was  that  two  months  on  my  back  that  kept  me  to  reasonable 
allowances  of  liquor,  and  your  Mother  she  pointed  out  to  me  that 
she  should  cut  her  throat  if  I  was  to  go  back  on  the  drink.  Yet, 
mind  you,  Joey,  I'd  V  been  well  pleased  to  be  even  with  that 
Sweep,  whilst  your  Mother  was  here  to  know  of  it.  It  don't  so 
much  matter  now ! — more  by  token  the  pore  devil's  lost  the  use  of 
his  eye,  I'm  told.  Boy  chucked  a  bit  of  broken  glass  at  him  that 
very  day " 

Should  I  tell  him  I  was  the  boy?  I  was  just  on  the  point  of 
doing  so,  when  the  thought  occurred  to  me  that  if  he  only  regretted 
his  inability  to  settle  scores  with  Peter  Gunn  because  it  would 
have  pleased  my  Mother,  his  own  satisfaction  at  hearing  of  my 
achievement  would  be  impaired,  if  not  destroyed,  by  knowing  that 
my  Mother  could  not  share  it,  and  that  I  had  never  told  her  of  it 
during  her  life.  An  abortive  suggestion  (of  some  passing  Imp, 
I  suppose)  that  I  could  pretend  I  had  told  her,  and  she  kept  the 
secret  for  my  sake,  not  to  involve  me  with  the  Sweep,  did  certainly 
cross  my  mind;  but  I  rejected  it  as  impracticable,  and  held  my 
tongue  as  before.  My  Father  continued: 

"Yes — he  lost  the  use  o'  that  eye,  did  Gunn.  Thought  it  was 
come  all  to  rights  and  it  got  a  back-turn  a  twelvemonth  after, 
I  was  told — rather  hard  on  the  beggar!  Anyhow,  he  got  a  mark 
to  carry  that  day,  and  I  got  off  better  than  scot-free,  as  you  might 
say.  A  little  stiffness  at  times,  and  what  they  call  shy-atica  now 
and  then,  but  nothing  to  set  against  the  new  go-off  I  got !  At  least 
so  your  Mother  thought,  and  I  expect  she  was  right — she  mostly 
was 

"And  I  have  done  well,  that's  the  truth,  since  the  Doctor  set 
me  a-going  on  his  drains  at  Popular  Villa.  You'll  remember 
all  about  that,  Nipper?  And  you  a-telling  and  a-telling  about 
Miss  Lossie  and  the  pears?  Never  thought  in  those  days  that  I 
should  live  to  write  Christopher  Vance  on  the  front  of  a  cheque, 
and  indeed  hardly  on  the  back  of  one.  And  now !  " 

He  made  a  long  pause,  and  then  said:  "After  all,  pYaps  it's 
not  so  much  Gunn  I  ought  to  thank  as  the  party  that  put  down 
that  brick-on-edge  for  me  to  tumble  on.  Perhaps  the  Finger  of 
Providence  put  it  there,  as  Capstick  was  a-sayin'.  There  was  no 
call  to  stand  it  edgewise  that  I  can  see,  anyhow ! 

"  You  touch  that  bell,  Nipper,  and  we'll  make  the  artful  Slavey 


JOSEPH  VANCE  139 

get  us  a  cup  o'  tea.  You  may  have  the  tea,  and  I'll  get  out  the 
whiskey-bottle  your  dear  Mother  kep'  in  the  left-hand  side- 
board cupboard,  for  to  resort  to  if  the  Doctor  didn't  come  when 
sent  for.  I'll  just  go  up  and  get  the  keys.  Tell  the  young  gal 
Tea " 

The  epithet  applied  to  the  slavey  by  my  Father  was  not  because 
she  was  supposed  to  have  any  special  skill  in  her  own  trade — on 
the  contrary,  the  cook,  who  first  applied  the  adjective  to  her,  wished 
it  to  be  understood  as  referring  to  artfulness  in  evasion  of  official 
undertakings,  and  an  undue  cultivation  of  the  society  of  young 
tradesmen.  My  Mother,  on  the  contrary,  liked  this  girl,  and  said 
if  artful  hussies  were  no  worse  than  Feener,  she  could  put  up  with 
them.  The  cook  retreated  on  her  entrenchments,  saying,  "  Well, 
Ma'am,  I  jedge  a  young  girl  by  her  Grates." — My  Mother  was  un- 
convinced, and  went  on  putting  up  with  Feener,  which  wasn't  a 
surname,  but  short  for  Seraphina.  Her  full  name  was  actually 
Seraphina  Dowdeswell,  but  it  seemed  incredible  to  me  at  the  time 
— though  I  became  convinced  of  it  afterwards. 

I  told  this  young  gal  Tea,  and  she  cleared  away  the  remains  of 
lunch  as  a  step  towards  it,  pausing  a  second  to  remark  that  Master 
had  eaten  nothing;  and  he  ought  to  try,  but  she  knew  how  hard 
it  was  to  get  anything  down.  The  poor  girl  was  really  very 
sympathetic,  having  been  very  fond  of  my  Mother;  and  had 
evidently  been  crying.  But  still  she  was  human,  and  I  felt  certain 
that  she  was  working  round  towards  an  exposition  of  her  own 
feelings  when  she  lost  her  Aunt  Sarah  at  Teddington.  As  this 
old  party  had  been  dying  slowly  during  the  last  thirteen  (in  a  life 
of  ninety-seven)  years,  the  parallel  was  not  a  happy  one.  So  I 
didn't  encourage  Feener,  but  sat  in  silence  tapping  a  new  lump 
of  coal  with  the  poker.  Feener  tried  a  conjecture  that  perhaps 
Master  would  take  some  tea,  and  I  must  persuade  him.  Not 
being  by  nature  morose,  and  feeling  obliged  to  say  something,  I 
said  I  thought  he  was  going  to  have  some  whiskey  and  water,  and 
had  gone  to  find  the  bottle. 

"  Well,  now,"  exclaimed  Feener,  "  I  am  that  glad  you  mentioned 
it!  Why,  there's  hardly  a  glassful  left!  And  it  was  only  one 
bottle  at  a  time  Missis  liked  to  have  in  the  house " 

"  I  suppose  you  can  get  another  ?  " 

"  If  I  was  to  run  this  minute,  Master  Joseph,  I  might  just  catch 
the  last  shutter  up  at  Viney  &  Backhouse's,  and  it's  only  theirs 
your  Father  will  touch,  being  that  particular !  It's  the  Pure  Cairn 
Magorrachan  Mountain  Dew,  and  not  to  be  had  at  the  bars;  not 
even  at  the  North  Pole!" 


140  JOSEPH   VANCE 

"But  it's  not  seven  o'clock  yet,  and  they'll  never  shut  before 
seven — never  mind  the  tea  till  you  come  back."  So  off  went 
Feener. 

I  should  have  gone  myself,  but  I  had  not  enough  cash;  and 
neither  Viney  nor  Backhouse  would  have  known  me  from  Adam. 
Feener,  of  course,  commanded  credit,  being  well  known.  My 
Father  returned  a  moment  after  she  left — 

"Where's  the  Tea,  old  man?"  said  he;  "I've  got  my  whiskey 
and  the  Nipper  hasn't  got  his  Tea — what's  Celestina  a-doin'  of  ? " 

It  was  not  in  my  Father's  nature  ever  to  accept  any  one's  own 
version  of  his  name.  So  he  elected  to  call  this  girl  Celestina.  I 
said  she  had  gone  to  get  another  bottle  of  whiskey. 

"There's  plenty  in  this  here  bottle,"  said  he,  "  seein'  I've  only 
just  drawn  the  cork !  What's  the  young  wacancy  a-thinkin'  of  ?  " 

I  explained  that  she  appeared  to  have  seen  a  nearly  empty  bot- 
tle, and  that  she  had  an  idea  that  there  was  never  more  than  one 
in  the  house,  by  my  Mother's  wish. 

"  Nor  more  there  ever  has  been,"  said  my  Father,  with  some 
reminiscence  of  his  peculiar  indescribable  manner.  "  Nor  more 
there  ever  has  been,  unless  you  count  a  bottle  a  bottle  afore  the 
cork's  took  out  of  it.  Accordin'ly  to  me,  a  bottle  ain't  there  at  all 
until  you  can  drink  it.  And  I've  never  had  two  bottles  open  at 
once  in  this  house.  There  was  a  teaspoonful  in  the  other  bottle 
little  Clementina  saw,  but  I  swallowed  it  down  before  I  opened 
this." 

I  felt  an  indescribable  chill  at  the  quick,  and  I  think  he  knew  it, 
for  he  added: — 

"  Never  you  trouble,  Nipper  dear !  It  came  to  exactly  the  same 
thing,  or  your  old  Father  wouldn't  have  done  it.  You  cheer  up !  " 

My  faith  in  him  was  so  strong  that  this  view  came  easily  in, 
and  the  chill  went  off.  All  the  same,  as  I  lay  awake  that  night  I 
remembered  his  prevarication,  long  ago,  about  the  half -pint  at  the 
Roebuck,  on  the  day  of  the  Sweep. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

AIT  INEXCUSABLY  LONG  LETTER  OF  MISS  LOSSIE's — IT  TELLS  HOW  SHE 
ADVOCATED  THE  CAUSE  OF  TEMPERANCE  MORE  SUCCESSFULLY  THAN 
POOR  MR.  CAPSTICK,  WHOSE  INTENTIONS  WERE  GOOD,  BUT  WHO  WAS 
LACKING  IN  TACT.  AND  OF  HOW  MR.  VANCE  POURED  THE  CAIRN 
MAGORRACHAN  MOUNTAIN  DEW  ON  THE  PARLOUR  FIRE. 

THE  following  letter  from  Lossie  to  Miss  Spencer  shows  how 
soon  I  had  reason  for  further  uneasiness  about  my  Father  and 
the  whiskey-bottle.  It  is  dated  months  later.  After  some  other 
matter,  of  no  interest  to  us,  it  goes  on  thus: 

"  Jan.  12,  1855. 

"It's  so  surprising  to  me  that  you  don't  remember  seeing  Joe 
Vance's  Mother  that  afternoon.  It  was  in  the  Spring  of  last 
year,  and  we  had  callers,  and  Mrs.  Vance  got  up  to  go  because  she 
said  there  were  some  gentlefolks  coming.  Then  Aunty  insisted  on 
her  stopping  till  she  brought  her  down  a  bottle  of  cough-mixture 
that  Vi  had  refused  to  take  because  it  had  ether  in  it.  Don't  you 
recollect  Papa  saying  to  her  that  she  ought  not  to  be  out  in  such 
an  awful  East-wind,  and  she  ought  to  go  to  Torquay?  And  she 
said  she  would  go  at  once  if  it  wasn't  for  her  easy  circumstances, 
meaning  the  encumbrances  of  her  household.  Because  her  hus- 
band with  the  best  intentions  persisted  in  increasing  the  num- 
ber of  servants,  and  fancied  the  more  there  were  the  less  trouble 
his  wife  would  have.  Of  course  the  exact  reverse  was  the  case. 
She  said  to  me,  '  Now,  dear  Miss  Lossie,  you  take  my  advice  and 
don't  get  married  if  it's  to  be  easy  circumstances.  The  minute 
circumstances  are  easy  everything  is  difficult.  If  it  wasn't,  my 
dear,  that  I  know  it  pleases  Vance,  I  should  be  truly  sorry  there 
was  such  things  as  circumstances  at  all.  We  was  happiest  with 
none,  at  Stallwood's  Cottages.'  And  the  dear  woman  carried  away 
the  bottle  in  her  muff,  and  I  have  no  doubt  took  it  all  religiously. 
And  when  she  had  gone  Vi  gave  way  to  her  feelings  about  the 
absurdity  of  a  man  like  Mr.  Vance  wanting  four  servants.  'I 
suppose,'  said  she,  '  they'll  be  being  the  Christopher  Vances  next, 
and  receiving — I  shouldn't  the  least  wonder  1 '  Violet  hates  old 

141 


142  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Vance,  and  when  Joe  is  out  of  the  way  he  catches  it.  However,  all 
that  is  not  what  this  letter  is  about,  but  only  by  the  way.  My  pen 
runs  on  so.  Nevertheless  it's  Vance  pere  I  was  going  to  write  about 
when  I  began,  so  it  comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end. 

"  Joe  spoke  to  me  more  than  once  before  he  went  back  to  school 
at  Christmas,  just  after  his  Mother's  funeral,  about  a  fear  he 
had  had,  now  his  Mother  was  gone,  that  his  Father  might  relapse 
into  his  old  habits — for  there  is  no  doubt  that  at  one  time  he  was 
much  too  free  in  his  potations.  As  his  poor  dear  wife  said  to  me, 
'  Within  living  memory  Mr.  Vance  has  been  two  opposite  poles.' 
I  am  quite  certain  that  her  mind  was  contentedly  accepting  two 
telegraph  poles,  or  perhaps  greasy  poles  at  a  fair,  pointing  in  op- 
posite directions,  as  the  metaphor  intended  in  this  expression. 
Living  memory  must  have  meant  five  years  or  so — as  she  went  on 
to  say  that  for  that  term  at  least  Temperance  itself  was  not  to  be 
compared.  But  poor  Joe  told  me  that  once  or  twice  during  her 
illness  he  had  felt  an  alarm,  and  been  afraid  of  the  possible  results 
of  the  cessation  of  her  influence.  He  has  written  to  me  a  good 
deal  about  it  from  school,  and  about  a  week  since  I  had  a  most 
alarmed  and  terrified  letter  from  the  poor  boy,  enclosing  part  of 
one  he  had  received  from  an  old  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Capstick, 
giving  an  account  of  certain  behaviour  of  his  Father's.  He  must 
have  been  very  violent  to  Mr.  C.,  expressing  forcible  opinions  about 
what  the  Apostle  Paul  would  have  done  to  show  his  resentment  of 
Mr.  C.'s  assumption  of  priestly  authority.  Joe  declined  to  give 
any  abstract  from  the  portion  of  Mr.  C.'s  letter  he  had  cut  out,  but 
said  in  his  own,  '  You  know,  the  governor  does  butter  it  on  so  very 
thick  when  he  gets  worked  up,  especially  if  it's  old  Capstick.'  So 
I  have  to  live  uninformed.  I  won't  send  Capstick's  letter,  as  I 
don't  suppose  Joe  would  like  me  to,  but  I  can  give  an  idea  of  it. 
It  bristles  with  references  to  Scripture,  threatening  poor  Vance 
that  he  shall  be  cast  into  outer  darkness,  where  is  wailing  and 
gnashing  of  teeth  (Matt.  xxii.  13),  and  as  a  reference  to  Mr.  V.'s 
trade  as  a  Builder,  contrives  to  drag  in  Nehemiah  ii.  20,  which  has 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  matter.  He  also  has  references  to 
Daniel  v.  4,  25,  26,  27,  28 — Jeremiah,  1.  2,  3— Habakkuk,  ii.  15, 
which  none  of  them  appear  to  be  relevant  to  the  main  point,  which 
is  briefly  that  Mr.  Capstick  has  endeavoured  (conscientiously,  no 
doubt)  to  influence  Mr.  Vance  to  be  more  moderate  about  whiskey 
and  water,  and  had  affirmed  that  wine  was  a  mocker,  and  strong 
drink  was  raging.  To  which  V.  replied  that  he  seldom  or  never 
touched  wine,  and  that  he  didn't  consider  whiskey  and  water  was 
strong  drink,  unless  there  was  a  great  deal  more  whiskey  than  water. 


JOSEPH   VANCE  143 

Joe's  letter  says  he  infers  that  the  interview  had  ended  by  his 
Father  losing  his  temper  and  kicking  Capstick  out  of  doors,  which 
certainly  would  not  have  happened  if  he  had  not  taken  too  much. 
He  says  he's  been  unusually  easy  with  Capstick  since  Mrs.  Vance 
died,  on  the  ground  of  her  friendship  for  him.  Even  when  Cap- 
stick  affirmed  that  her  Salvation  was  by  no  means  a  Certainty,  and 
that  it  would  be  presumptuous  to  think  so,  Mr.  Vance  merely  re- 
ferred to  his  having  made  her  Salvation  a  condition  precedent  of 
believing  anything  at  all.  He  then  (according  to  Joe,  who  told  me 
this  sometime  ago)  wound  up  by  saying,  '  It's  all  fair  and  square, 
Master  Capstick.  What  you  say  is,  I  shall  be  damned  if  I  won't 
believe,  and  what  I  say  is,  I'll  be  damned  if  I  will.  So  anyhow,  I 
am  damned ! '  I'm  so  glad  Vi  isn't  looking  over  my  shoulder. 

"  Well,  dear,  getting  this  letter  from  Joe,  what  ought  I  to  have 
done?  I'll  tell  you  what  I  did  do,  and  I  hope  you'll  think  it  was 
right.  I  told  Papa,  and  he  said  certainly  I  should  do  wisely  to 
go  and  talk  to  Vance  (which  was  my  daring  proposal).  Much 
better,  he  said,  than  his  talking  to  him,  which  would  only  put  his 
back  up,  and  do  more  harm  than  good.  So  I  took  my  courage  in 
both  hands  and  went  at  once.  I  found  the  going  easy  enough.  It 
was  the  talking! 

"However,  it  had  got  to  be  done,  and  I  had  to  do  it.  I  con- 
structed several  hinges  on  my  way  to  turn  the  conversation  on, 
and  forgot  them  all  by  the  time  I  reached  Clapham  and  found 
Mr.  Vance's  slavey  (as  he  calls  her)  talking  to  the  Butter  in  a 
high  wind  at  the  front  gate.  The  men's  dinner-bell  was  just  ring- 
ing at  the  works,  so  Mr.  Vance  would  be  round  almost  directly.  I 
was  shown  into  his  little  room  at  the  back,  where  he  has  lived  al- 
most entirely  since  his  wife  died,  and  had  leisure  looking  out  of 
the  window  at  the  gate  of  the  works,  and  noting  the  stream  of 
men  pouring  out  to  go  to  dinner,  to  wonder  at  the  extraordinary 
succession  of  strokes  of  luck  (or  has  it  been  genius? — that's  what 
Papa  thinks)  that  has  developed  such  a  great  business  concern  in 
less  than  five  years!  For  these  men  that  I  saw  were  only  the  men 
in  the  shops — engineers  and  carpenters  and  so  on.  How  many  he 
has  on  all  his  jobs  altogether  I  can't  guess.  But  Joe  told  me  that 
the  land  on  which  he  has  built  these  shops  will  soon  not  be  enough 
for  Christopher  Vance,  Builder  and  Contractor,  who  began  with  a 
humble  announcement  of  a  desire  to  attend  to  Drains  on  the  short- 
est notice.  Only  five  years  ago!  Just  fancy! 

"  I  went  on  just  fancying,  and  looking  through  the  red  glass 
of  the  window,  which  made  the  whole  prosperous  concern  vermil- 
ion, till  I  was  stopped  by  the  voice  of  its  proprietor,  who  when 


144  JOSEPH   VANCE 

I  turned  round  to  greet  him  naturally  looked  sickly  greeny  grey, 
clothes  and  all.  Never  mind,  thought  I,  he'll  gravitate  hack  to  a 
decent  colour  in  time. 

" '  Lookin'  at  all  my  idle  beggars  turnin'  out  for  their  dinners, 
Miss  Lossie?  Goin'  to  have  a  pound  of  steak  apiece,  each  o'  those 
chaps  is,  and  as  much  beer  as  he  can  hold  full  up.'  Mr.  Vance 
suggested  the  highest  possible  beer  level  with  his  finger  across  his 
throat.  '  And  then  every  livin'  man-jack  of  'em  will  go  off  sound 
asleep  and  come  in  late  and  be  fined,  I'll  wager !  And  how  do  you 
do,  Miss,  and  your  respected  father  ? '  We  did  well.  '  Has  little 
Clementina  offered  you  anything  by  way  of  refreshment — tea, 
corfy,  cake,  effervescin'  drinks?  Not  so  much  as  a  dry  biscuit, 
I'll  be  bail!  She's  a-colloguin'  with  a  young  shaver  across  the 
gate,  and  disregardin'  the  civilities.  There's  the  cook  goin'  out 
arter  her — I  can  hear  her/ 

"  I  couldn't  identify  the  sound  as  he  did,  but  I  received  an  im- 
pression like  that  one  has  when  a  group  of  fowls,  walking  about 
on  one  course  of  its  dinner,  is  suddenly  scattered  by  the  next 
course  being  flung  over  its  backs.  But  Clementina,  being  dispersed, 
did  not  gather  again,  and  the  shaver  went  away  whistling. 

"'But,  dear  Mr.  Vance,  I've  only  just  done  breakfast.  You 
know  how  late  we  are  at  home?  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  eat  any 
lunch!  For  goodness'  sake  don't  order  anything  for  me.' 

"  '  And  bein'  you  ain't  a  young  chap,  I  can't  offer  a  cigar.  Can't 
do  anything,  Miss  Lossie,  seemingly?'  He  looked  dejected. 

"  '  Yes,  you  can,  Mr.  Vance !  You  can  ask  mo  what  I  came  here 
for  at  this  early  hour  in  the  morning.' 

"'What  might  it  be  then,  Miss  Lossie?    That's  asking.' 

"'I've  something  to  say  to  you,  that's  very  difficult  to  say.  I 
want  you  to  help  me.' 

"Poor  man!  He  was  so  good  about  it.  He  at  once  saw  I  was 
in  distress  about  something,  though  he  didn't  guess  what. 

" '  Goard  bless  my  life  and  soul,  Miss  Lossie ! '  he  burst  out. 
'Why,  ain't  I  Joe  Vance's  father,  and  ain't  you  Doctor  Thorpe's 
daughter  what  sent  my  boy  to  school,  and  for  that  matter  did 
more  to  set  me  a-goin'  than — well,  then!  than  ever  I  deserved? 
Why,  there's  nothing,  nothing,  I  wouldn't  go  halfway  to  for  the 

like Halfway!  All  the  way.'  He  stopped,  and  I  think  got 

a  gleam.  'Am  I  to  be  blowed  up  for  anything?  If  so,  just  you 
fire  away  free — I'll  be  bail  I  shall  deserve  it/ 

"I  was  so  grateful  to  him  for  the  lift  he  had  given,  that  I 
could  hardly  find  it  in  my  heart  to  attack  him.  But  I  went  on — 

" '  I've  had  a  letter  from  Joe,  and  he's  very  uneasy  about  you.' 


JOSEPH   VANCE  145 

" '  What,  my  Nipper  ?  "Uneasy  about  me  ? '  I  think  the  gleam 
increased,  but  he  waited  for  me  to  go  on. 

" '  Joe  had  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Capstick,  which  had  made  him 
lie  awake.'  Mr.  Vance  flushed  slightly,  and  he  set  his  lips  close 
for  a  moment.  I  could  see  his  likeness  to  Joe,  whom  I  had  always 
supposed  to  be  only  like  his  mother.  '  You  mustn't  be  angry  with 
old  Capstick — he's  only  an  old  goose.'  But  Mr.  Vance  only  looked 
partially  mollified.  '  What's  the  old  goose  been  a-writin'  of  to  my 
Nipper  ? '  said  he.  Then  as  I  was  beginning  to  speak  he  stopped 
me  with — 'No,  that  ain't  truthful  of  me — I  know  what  he's  been 
writing  about.  What  did  he  say?' 

"I  gave  a  short  extract  of  the  letter,  which  indeed,  minus  the 
Scripture  references,  was  not  so  very  long  in  itself,  and  said  what  I 
could  to  soften  matters.  But  the  main  fact  was  beyond  softening. 
Mr.  C.  had  made  an  organized  attack,  supported  by  quotations, 
at  a  moment  when,  according  to  him,  Mr.  V.  was  in  a  condition  to 
supply  an  object  lesson,  and  had  paid  the  penalty  of  his  rashness 
by  being  ejected  from  the  house.  I  said  I  thought  it  was  wrong 
and  cruel  of  him  to  go  away  and  write  to  a  boy  of  fourteen  as  he 
had  done — but  he  really  was  too  great  a  fool  for  it  to  be  worth 
Mr.  Vance's  while  to  think  about  him.  '  But  Joe  evidently  thinks,' 
I  said,  'that  you  cannot  have  been  quite  yourself,  or  you  would 
never  have  been  so  violent  with  him,  as  he  says  you  have  generally 
treated  him  as  a  sort  of  joke,  and  made  game  of  him.  You  know,' 
I  added,  coming  to  the  point, '  you  must  have  been  very  violent  with 
him  to  make  him  write  to  your  own  son  that  he  thought  it  was ' 

" '  Whiskey,'  said  he. 

" '  That's  what  he  said,'  I  replied.  '  And  Joe  must  have  thought 
there  was  something  in  it,  or  he  wouldn't  have  written  to  me  about 
it  at  all.  As  Joe  says  in  his  letter,  it  doesn't  at  all  follow  that  he's 
telling  lies  because  he  gives  a  reference  to  Scripture  every  two  or 
three  words.' 

"  l  Don't  it  ? '  said  Mr.  Vance.  '  Let's  have  a  look  at  Joe's  letter, 
Miss  Lossie.'  I  explained  that  I  had  purposely  left  Joe's  letter 
at  home,  not  to  be  tempted  to  show  it,  as  Joe  would  not  expect  me 
to  show  it,  though  I  did  not  suppose  that  he  would  have  been  afraid 
to  write  exactly  the  same  to  him.  But  I  wanted  Joe  always  to 
write  without  reserve,  and  was  not  sure  he  would  always  do  so,  if  I 
showed  a  letter  of  his,  even  to  his  Father.  The  point  didn't  seem 
to  trouble  the  latter  much — it  may  be  that  being,  as  he  used  to 
say,  a  short  scollard,  he  did  not  care  to  decipher  manuscript  under 
inspection.  Anyhow,  he  did  not  press  it,  and  recurred  to  Cap- 
stick's  veracity.  He  evidently  thought  this  doubtful,  but  admitted 


146  JOSEPH  VANCE 

that  Scriptural  quotations  and  accurate  statements  might  creep 
occasionally  into  the  same  document,  although  it  could  only  be 
regarded  as  accident  when  they  did  so. 

" ' Psalm-singers  is  mostly  liars/  said  he,  'and  Capstick's  no 
better  nor  worse  than  the  rest  of  'em.  Still,  as  you  say,  Miss 
Lossie,  he  might  be  right,  in  the  manner  of  speaking,  by  accident, 
once  in  a  way.  He  might  have  said  he'd  seen  me  the  worse  for 
liquor  when  I  was  the  worse  but  never  showed  it.  And  then  he'd 
have  been  right  by  accident,  but  a  liar  for  all  that.  Because  his 
attitood  in  respect  of  me  should  have  been  that  I  was  as  sober  as  a 
Beadle — seemin'  so  to  him — hay,  Miss  Lossie?' 

"I  couldn't  help  laughing  at  this.  'Oh,  Mr.  Vance/  said  I. 
'You're  just  like  the  pickpocket  that  said  that  it  was  true  he'd 
stolen  the  pocket-handkerchief  he  was  caught  running  away  with, 
but  that  all  the  others  in  his  pocket  had  got  there  by  accident.  You 
know  that  evening  you  turned  Mr.  Capstick  out  you  must  have 
been ' 

"'Drunk?'  said  he.     It  always  fell  to  him  to  say  the  word. 

'"Well — something  like  it.  And  of  course  you  imagined  you 
didn't  show  it.  Do  you  suppose — pardon  me  for  speaking  so  freely 
— you  said  speak  freely ?' 

'"Cut  along,  dear  Miss  Lossie/  said  he. 

— " '  Do  you  suppose  hundreds,  thousands  of  the  victims  of  this 
awful  habit  are  not  under  the  same  delusion — that  they  don't 
show  it?  Isn't  it  true,  rather,  that  one  and  all  of  them  go  on 
under  that  delusion  until  it  is  too  late  to  go  back,  and  then  find 
they  have  been  a  byword  of  the  neighbours  for  years?  And  if 
only  one  friend  had  come  to  them  in  time,  and  spoken  the  bold 
and  honest  truth,  as  I  speak  it  to  you  now,  for  Joe's  sake  and  your 
own, — how  different  it  might  be,  so  often!  It  cannot  be  too  late 
now  for  you,  for  as  far  as  I  know  no  one  fears  it  but  Joe — at 
least  no  one  has  said  anything  to  me.'  I  paused,  for  I  had  a 
misgiving  that  I  was  weakening  my  own  advocacy,  and  giving  a 
sort  of  license  to  go  on  a  little  until  public  attention  was  attracted. 
But  I  don't  think  I  did.  '  You  know,  Mr.  Vance/  I  went  on,  '  it 
is  only  because  I  believe  Joe's  fears  are  a  little  exaggerated  that 
I  see  any  use  in  speaking  to  you  about  it  at  all.  If  I  really 
thought  you  had  got  into  anything  like  a  habit  of ' 

" '  Boozing  ? '  said  he,  saving  me  the  ugly  word  again. 

" '  That  sort  of  thing/  I  replied,  and  then  went  on — '  I  shouldn't 
think  anything  I  could  say  would  be  of  any  avail  at  all.  But  all 
this  is  only  since ' 

'"My  wife  died.    Yes,  my  dear.    And  right  you  are,  all  along 


JOSEPH  VANCE  147 

the  line.  Stop  a  half -a-minute ! '  He  went  to  a  writing-table  at 
the  window  I  had  seen  the  vermilion  view  through,  and  brought  out 
a  bundle  of  accounts. 

" '  Here  we  are — Viney  &  Backhouse,  Wine  Merchants  to  H.  M. 
the  King  of  the  Belgiums,  hm — hm — hm!  One  dozen  McCorquo- 
dale's  celebrated  Pure  Cairn  Magorrachan  Mountain  Dew,  one 
dozen  ditto,  one  dozen  ditto!  My  dear  Miss  Lossie,  you're  right 
all  along  the  line.  Be  out  some  one  else  has  been  having  a  swig! 
Little  Clementina/  to  the  maid  who  was  laying  the  cloth  for 
lunch,  'how  much  Pure  Cairn  Magorrachan  Mountain  Dew  have 
you  had  out  of  these  here  bottles  since  we  had  them  by  the 
dozen  ? ' 

" '  Law,  Master ! '  said  little  Clementina. 

" '  What  a  shame ! '  said  I.     '  Never  mind  Mr.  Vance,  Seraphina.' 

" l  Law,  Miss/  replied  Seraphina,  rightly  so  called  by  me. 
'  Fancy  mindin'  Master ! '  And  retired .  undisturbed.  Master  re- 
sumed-— 

"  *  Yes — you're  right,  Miss  Lossie.  I'd  no  idea  I'd  worked  through 
such  a  show  of  liquor.'  He  put  the  account  back  with  a  sigh,  and 
then  went  on,  speaking  with  his  back  to  me  as  he  stood  at  the  desk. 
'  When  my  dear  wife  was  alive  it  was  she  that  stood  between  me 
and  the  'Abit.  But  I  was  off  and  on,  off  and  on.  Till  I  got  that 
bad  lay-up — it  might  have  been  three  months  before  I  did  that 
job  at  your  Governor's.  Did  Joe  ever  tell  you  of  my  fight  with  a 
Sweep?' 

" '  No — not  a  word.' 

" '  Good  boy !  He  thought  it  best  for  his  daddy  to  keep  his 
mouth  shut.  Well,  I  got  laid  up  two  months  and  couldn't  move. 
And  my  Nellie  she  stopped  off  all  intoxicants,  and  when  I  got 
round  I  didn't  want  'em  somehow.  And  she  said  next  time  I  got 
concerned  in  liquor,  she'd  cut  her  throat  straight  off.  So  I  knocked 
it  all  off,  and  my  luck  began ' 

"  I  had  a  sort  of  feeling  that  I  had  said  all  I  needed  to  say,  and 
that  rubbing  it  in  might  be  a  mistake.  The  mere  fact  that  I  had 
come  to  see  him  after  the  receipt  of  Joe's  letter,  and  told  him  its 
contents,  seemed  to  me  to  carry  full  weight,  and  that  lecturing 
and  amplification  could  add  nothing  and  might  even  do  harm.  So 
I  said  nothing,  and  Mr.  Vance  continued  still  standing  at  the 
desk  and  looking  through  the  vermilion  glass  at  the  Workshops. 

" '  And  luck  it  has  been — job  follerin'  job.  Haven't  stood  a 
day  idle  since  that  day  five  year  agone  when  I  set  my  man  to 
peck  up  your  front  garden  with  a  peck  and  a  shovel  I  had  to 
borrow  off  a  friend,  and  a  barrer  'ired  on  credit.  He's  foreman 


148  JOSEPH   VANCE 

now  on  a  contract  job  down  by  Cherry  Garden  pier — payin'  a 
hundred  and  fifteen  and  sixpence  a  week  in  wages,  barring  over- 
time, and  if  he  don't  complete  by  December  the  first,  a  fine  of 
fifty  pounds  per  diem  for  every  day  overdue.  But  it  ain't  of 
much  use,  that  I  can  see,  all  of  it ! ' 

" '  I  hope  he  will  complete,  Mr.  Vance/  said  I,  appalled  by  the 
magnitude  of  these  figures. 

" '  Trust  William/  said  Mr.  Vance.  I  remembered  William. 
*  We  shall  never  have  to  pay  a  brass  farden  in  fines — not 
we!' 

" '  How  on  earth  have  you  managed  to  do  it,  Mr.  Vance  ? '  He 
turned  round  from  the  window  to  reply.  '  By  never  doing  a  hand's 
turn  myself,  Miss  Lossie/  said  he.  'If  I  was  to,  I  should  spile 
all.  If  I  was  to  add  up  a  column  of  figures,  I  should  add  'em  up 
wrong.  If  I  was  to  mix  a  yard  o'  concrete,  I  should  mix  it  wrong. 
If  I  was  only  to  try  to  tenant  up  a  window  frame,  I  should  tenant 
it  up  wrong.  So  I  just  set  a  couple  o'  young  men  on  to  adding 
up,  and  if  either  catches  the  other  out  it's  a  shillin'  off  o'  one's 
salary  on  to  the  other.  Sim'lar  all  through! 

" '  Never  you  do  anything  yourself,  Miss  Lossie.  That's  where 
the  mistake  comes  in.  Why,  when  I  was  putting  down  my  ma- 
chinery, four  year  ago,  do  you  suppose  I  ever  so  much  as  looked 
at  it?  Not  I!  I  says  to  the  Engineer — chap  from  Manchester — 
"My  friend,"  says  I,  "if  you  want  to  attend  to  this  little  job, 
what  you've  got  to  bear  in  mind  is  this — I  want  to*  employ  rather 
more  than  two  hundred  hands  in  this  here  yard,  and  you  can  find 
out  a  sight  better  than  I  can  how  much  power  each  o'  them  '11  want 
off  the  engine.  All  I  say  is,  don't  ask  me !  You  can  see  my  fore- 
man of  jiners,  and  ask  him  how  much  he  wants.  And  the  head 
Smith,  you  can  see  him  and  find  what  '11  satisfy  him.  But  don't 
bother  me  about  whether  the  Boiler  is  to  be  Cornish  or  Lancashire, 
nor  yet  about  condensing  engines  nor  high  pressures  nor  low 
pressures.  Just  you  make  a  drawing  and  a  contract  and  say  what 
sort  o'  security  you  can  give  me  for  having  all  complete  by  Christ- 
mas, and  I  shall  send  you  on  without  openin'  you,  to  my  Con- 
sultin'  Engineer  in  George  Street,  Westminster,  and  he'll  square 
up  with  you."  Now  if  I'd  gone  interferin'  betwixt  him  and  my 
foreman,  a  nice  how-do-you-do  there'd  'a'  been  I ' 

" '  But,  Mr.  Vance,  had  you  a  Consulting  Engineer  in  Great 
George  Street,  Westminster  ? ' 

" '  O7  coorse  I  had,  Miss  Lossie.  I'd  never  consulted  him,  and 
never  have,  but  he'd  have  been  my  Consulting  Engineer  by  the  time 
I'd  consulted  him,  and  I'd  no  need  for  him  until  I'd  done  so. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  149 

Anyhow,  the  end  was  I  got  as  good  a  jiner's  shop  as  any  in  London. 
It's  well  known  how  many  fingers  are  taken  off  by  band-saws  in 
ten  years,  accordin'  to  the  number  of  horses-power  transmitted,  in 
any  first-class  shop,  and  though  I  can't  remember  the  figures,  I 
know  we're  well  below  the  average.  In  some  shops  you'll  find  a 
loose  finger  in  the  saw-dust  as  often  as  not,  when  swep'  up/ 

"  I  heard  Clementina's  breath  taken  away  by  this  awful  revela- 
tion, and  thinking  it  would  be  kind  to  utilize  my  incredulous  ex- 
pression to  reassure  her,  I  turned  round,  and  saw  that  she  was 
laying  a  place  for  me.  So  I  judged  it  time  to  go.  Mr.  Vance* 
accompanied  me  to  the  front  gate. 

"  '  What  we  was  talkin'  about/  said  he,  touching  my  hand  slightly 
with  his  forefinger — and  his  voice  lost  the  sort  of  good-humoured 
nasal  twang  it  always  had  when  he  was  talking  at  random,  and 
became  serious,  '  Don't  you  fret  about  it,  Miss  Lossie,  and  don't 
you  let  the  Nipper  fret.  I'll  take  good  care — I  know  where  t<? 
stop.  It  '11  be  all  right.' 

"  I  felt  this  attitude  was  a  certain  preliminary  to  its  being  all 
wrong,  and  that  I  ought  to  tell  him  his  only  chance  would  be  in 
total  abstinence,  for  a  time  at  any  rate.  I  was  irresolute  for  a 
moment.  Then  all  in  an  instant,  Heaven  only  knows  why,  there 
shot  into  my  mind  a  conversation  I  had  had  with  Mrs.  Vance 
years  before.  I  had  completely  forgotten  it.  She  had  used  to  me 
the  very  expression  then  that  her  husband  had  just  used.  Her 
words  were — '  My  dear  Miss  Lossie,  if  all  the  men  that  know  where 
to  stop,  stopped,  it  would  be  all  right.  But  they  know  and  the? 
don't  do  it.' 

"  I  repeated  this  word  for  word  to  Mr.  Vance,  adding,  '  Do  you 
know  who  said  that  to  me,  one  day  at  your  old  cottage  gate,  years 
and  years  ago  ?  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  could  see  and  hear  her  now — 
almost  as  if  I  had  just  left  her  and  she  had  told  me  to  tell  you — 
almost  as  if  it  had  been  yesterday — in  the  next  street.  Just  think  1 
If  it  had.' 

"'Ah,  if!'  said  he,  dreamily,  and  then  added  'Good-bye,  Miss 
Lossie.  God  bless  you,  my  dear !  It  shall  be  all  right.' 

"  I  had  gone  a  few  paces  when  I  heard  him  call  me  back.  '  Half 
a  minute,  Miss  Lossie/  said  he.  '  Would  you  mind  stepping  back 
into  the  house,  just  for  one  half-a-minute  ? ' 

"  I  did  so.  A  new-drawn  whiskey-bottle  stood  on  the  table,  just 
placed  there  by  the  young  gal.  He  took  it  up,  took  out  the  cork, 
and  deliberately  poured  it  on  the  fire,  sending  a  splendid  blue 
blaze  up  the  chimney.  Clementina,  coming  in  with  the  gist,  or 
substance  of  the  luncheon,  was  stricken  too  dumb  to  say  well  she 


150  JOSEPH  VANCE 

never,  but  stood  meaning  it  and  forgetting  to  put  down  her  tray 
in  the  excitement  and  rejoicing  incident  to  fireworks. 

"'It's  no  use  smashing  the  bottle/  said  Mr.  Vance,  turning 
to  me  as  the  last  flicker  died  down.  *  Because  there's  a  penny  on 
the  bottle.  But  you  see,  Miss  Lossie,  it  '11  be  all  right  now.' 

"  I  went  home  happy.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  carried  him  a  mesage 
from  the  beyond.  Papa  says  he  believes  he'll  be  all  right,  for  a 
?ood  while  at  any  rate.  .  .  ." 

The  letter  ends  with  apologies  for  its  great  length,  and  a  few 
particulars  of  family  matters. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  TALE  OF  JOE'S  PUGNACITY  AT  SCHOOL.  OP  HIS  FATHER'S  ABSTINENCE. 
MUCH  ABOUT  HIS  NAMESAKE  JOEY,  WHICH  WE  WOULD  OMIT  IF  WE 
COULD  DO  WITHOUT  IT.  OF  THE  RAPIDITY  OF  HIS  FATHER'S  RISE. 
OF  HOW  HE  SAW  NOLLY,  BUT  THE  OTHER  DAY,  AND  COULD  NOT  SPEAK 
WITH  HIM.  OF  HOW  LOSSIE  IS  STILL  LIVING,  IN  ITALY. 

PROBABLY  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  very  few  people  to  have  such  an 
opportunity  of  finding  out  how  much  they  have  forgotten  as  this 
old  packet  of  letters  has  given  me. 

This  last  one  brought  back  to  my  mind  the  fact  that  my 
Father,  shortly  after  completing  his  Works  on  the  piece  of  land 
in  the  rear  of  our  house,  had  acquired  also  about  an  acre  between 
it  and  the  railway,  thereby  becoming  possessor  of  an  ideal  place 
for  the  accumulation  of  bricks  and  timber.  I  had  completely  for- 
gotten this.  It  brought  back  also  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Cap- 
stick's  letter  arrived  at  the  school.  The  lodge  where  the  Postpan 
delivered  the  letters  was  just  within  hearing  of  the  room  where  I, 
with  others,  was  profitably  employed  in  the  making  of  bad  Latin 
verses,  and  I  caught  my  name  in  the  colloquy  between  that  Official 
and  the  Gate-Porter.  There  was  a  letter  directed  to  me,  Mr.  J. 
Vance,  Junr.,  and  the  sorters  had  kept  the  letter  outside  the  parcel 
which  was  handed  in  in  a  lump  for  later  distribution,  as  all  my 
letters  had  hitherto  been  to  Master  Joseph  (or  Master  Joe)  Vance. 
This  disquieted  me,  and  I  was  constrained  to  plead  my  distrac- 
tion as  an  excuse  for  an  hexameter  without  a  ca3sura — which,  as 
all  the  classical  world  knows,  is  a  thing  it  would  have  been  soundly 
flogged  for  when  it  was  a  boy.  I  recollected  the  fact  of  having  had 
a  letter  from  Mr.  Capstick,  and  of  my  writing  to  Lossie,  but  it 
had  all  grown  dim  (in  more  than  forty  years  of  oblivion)  and  the 
letter  brought  it  all  back  again.  It  also  identified  itself  to  me  as 
the  cause  of  a  thrilling  incident,  which  was  not  without  its  in- 
fluence on  my  after  life.  For  a  contemptuous  word  about  her 
from  a  boy  bigger  than  myself  exasperated  me  as  I  read  it,  and 
led  to  his  receiving  as  savage  a  thrashing  as  a  boy  of  my  years 
could  give,  in  a  fight  lasting  over  thirty  minutes  by  my  second's 

151 


152  JOSEPH  VANCE 

watch,  which  fight  would,  I  suspect,  still  be  found  among  the 
school  traditions.  If  ever  you  meet  an  old  St.  Withold's  boy,  ask 
him  if  he  ever  heard  of  the  great  fight  between  little  Vance  and 
Bony  Macallister.  I  am  afraid  I  was  rather  pugnacious — • 
probably  inherited  it  from  my  Father,  who  had  indeed  been  most 
successful  in  his  encounters  until  he  came  across  that  fatal  Sweep. 
Poor  Bony  Macallister,  I  may  remark,  had  merely  looked  over  my 
shoulder  and  observed  that  that  wasn't  my  Fancy  Gurl's  hand- 
writing, which  it  wasn't.  I  think  now  that  I  was  unjust  and 
precipitate  to  go  for  him  as  I  did  then  and  there.  We  were 
separated,  and  the  fight  put  on  a  proper  footing.  We  naturally 
became  great  friends  after,  more  puerorum.  But  I  must  not  allow 
him  to  lead  me  altogether  away  from  what  I  was  saying. 

I  gather,  then,  from  this  letter,  and  from  what  I  can  remember 
of  concurrent  incident,  that  had  it  not  been  for  Lossie's  courage- 
ous dash  at  the  position,  my  anxieties  about  my  Father  at  that 
time  might  still  have  continued.  As  it  was,  when  I  returned  at 
the  end  of  '55  for  the  Christmas  holiday,  and  he  and  I  eat  our 
Christmas  dinner  at  Poplar  Villa  by  invitation,  he  took  almost 
nothing  to  drink,  and  what  little  he  did  take  was  only  in  honour 
of  the  occasion.  He  was  pleased  to  represent  himself  as  the  vic- 
tim of  Lossie's  tyranny  (she  perfectly  understanding  his  humour, 
and  accepting  it,  as  rather  facilitating  the  position  than  other- 
wise), saying  down  the  length  of  the  table,  in  the  indescribable 
nasal  way  which  seemed  too  lazy  to  articulate — "Don't  you  put 
any  brandy  over  my  corner  of  the  puddin',  Miss  Lossie;  or  after 
two  sherry  and  sodas  and  'arf-a-glass  o'  port  I  shall  be  rollin' 
about  under  the  table."  To  which  she  replied,  "  It's  too  late  now, 
Mr.  Vance !  You  should  have  spoken  before.  You'll  have  to  find 
out  how  to  leave  the  brandy  and  eat  the  pudding  for  yourself. 
Or  you  needn't  totally  abstain  from  it  if  somebody  else  does,  you 
know.  Ask  Aunty  to,  or  you  can  totally  abstain  from  hers,  for 
that  matter.  That  will  make  it  square ! "  And  the  reference  to 
Aunty  was  rash,  as  it  attracted  her  attention,  and  the  difficulty  of 
explaining  the  idea  of  making  good  an  indulgence  in  one  glass 
of  spirits,  by  totally  abstaining  from  another,  may  be  imagined, 
when  it  had  to  be  instilled  into  an  unreceptive  mind  through  a 
deaf  ear. 

And  I  had  quite  forgotten  all  that  too  till  after  I  had  read  the 
letter !  And  now  I  can  shut  my  smarting  eyes  in  the  London  fog, 
and  almost  hear  again  Lossie's  attempts  to  shout  the  explanation, 
nearly  crying  with  laughter  all  the  while  at  the  perfect  hopeless- 
ness of  it.  Did  the  man  who  rolled  down  the  Matterhorn  really 


JOSEPH   VANCE  153 

recollect  every  incident  in  his  life  before  he  reached  the  bottom, 
as  he  said  he  did  ? 

Had  I  to  write  from  memory  alone  an  account  of  my  Father's 
relations  with  the  bottle  at  this  date,  it  would  have  run  somewhat 
thus — "  He  was  rather  less  sober  as  a  widower  than  before  my 
Mother's  death;  but  his  interest  in  his  business,  and  I  think  the 
influence  of  Dr.  Thorpe  and  his  daughter  Lucilla,  kept  him  from 
excesses."  Perhaps  no  more  than  this  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
my  story.  It  is  difficult  to  draw  a  line  when  one  is  without  artistic 
ability,  which  I  have  been  frequently  assured  is  the  case  with  me. 
The  shortest  biography  I  ever  saw  was  the  word  Vixit  alone  on  a 
tombstone — perhaps  the  proportion  of  the  detail  of  Lossie's  let- 
ter to  the  importance  of  its  contents  runs  too  much  into  the  op- 
posite extreme. 

I  wish  these  letters  supplied  one  or  two  things  which  I  have  so 
far  been  unable  to  find.  Of  course  they  may  turn  up  later,  as  I 
go  on  with  my  opening  and  perusal  of  the  packets;  but  though  I 
have  expected  them  I  have  been  disappointed  hitherto. 

For  instance,  some  clue  to  the  changes  which  converted  my 
namesake  Joey  from  a  comically  voluble,  but  very  lovable,  baby 
to  a  rather  pert  and  selfish,  but  by  no  means  lovable,  boy.  For  I 
have  to  record  this  transformation  with  a  misgiving  that  a  real 
author,  skilful  in  making  use  of  intractable  materials,  would 
soften  it  down  somewhat,  to  accommodate  it  to  his  reader's  powers 
of  deglutition.  I  cannot  do  this  sort  of  thing.  But  I  should  be 
glad  of  a  lift — and  am  living  in  hope  that  something  will  turn  up. 

For  there  is  nothing  stranger  in  Nature  than  the  development 
of  odiousness.  What  an  entirely  delightful  person  was  ***** 
when  he  was  eight  months  old,  in  all  the  bloom  of  his  creases, 
furnished  with  a  matchless  nape  to  his  neck  in  which  his  appre- 
ciators  might  burrow ;  his  premature  baldness  beginning  to  show  a 
light  down  of  premature  hair;  his  premature  arms  that  wouldn't 
bend  at  the  joints,  being  held  by  two  firm  but  tender  crease-flanks ; 
and  that  always  did  precisely  the  same  thing  suddenly;  his  de- 
lightful practice  of  stopping  abruptly  at  the  end  of  the  first 
syllable  of  a  speech.  What  an  entirely  satisfactory  and  adequate 
little  human  creature  as  far  as  it  went !  And  look  at  it  now  that 
it  has  gone  forty  years  farther.  I  ask  you,  at  the  risk  of  outrage 
to  your  feelings  and  Mrs.  Grundy's,  to  say  what  you  would  do 
if  *****  were  fetched  down  now  in  his  nightgown  to  be 
shown?  Well!  both  times  it  would  be  himself  and  none  other! 
And  just  think,  when  he  gets  on  his  legs  (for  he  is  in  Parliament), 
how  pleased  the  other  grown-up  infants  would  be  if  he  stopped 


154  JOSEPH  VANCE 

suddenly  short  at  the  first  syllable  of  his  speech,  and  let  them  ofi 
the  rest. 

However  (as  you  will  say  probably),  this  is  only  the  inevitable 
change  incident  to  all  humanity.  So  it  is,  but  what  I  want  to 
get  to  is  that  my  namesake  changed  even  more  than  this,  though 
this  is  strange  enough.  I  don't  wish  to  suggest  that  *  *  *  *  *, 
who  is  a  most  respectable  man,  and  well  known  in  public  life,  is 
one  scrap  more  repulsive  and  detestable  as  compared  with  his 
early  half  than  you  or  me.  I  was  philosophizing,  and  now  I'm 
ashamed,  and  beg  pardon.  Let  me  get  back  to  Joey  Thorpe. 

Joey  then  changed  more  than  was  reasonable.  It  may  be  said 
that  in  this  respect  of  selfishness  that  he  didn't  change,  but 
remained  a  baby, — only  self-seeking  is  charming  in  a  baby,  while 
altruism,  if  it  takes  the  form  of  requiring  you  to  suck  what  it  has 
already  sucked,  is  as  unpleasant  as  benevolence  that  won't  let 
you  choose  your  own  benefits,  but  drubs  and  thwacks  them  into 
you  and  is  shocked  if  you  are  not  truly  thankful,  Amen !  On  the 
other  hand,  a  boy  in  his  teens  is  not  nice  enough  per  se  to  carry 
off  much  more  self-seeking  than  is  his  privilege  as  a  man;  nor  is 
he  ever  so  odious  but  he  may  make  himself  still  more  so  by  always 
taking  and  never  giving.  Self-help  is  a  glorious  thing,  and  one  of 
our  numerous  birthrights,  but  it  should  stop  short  of  helping 
oneself  to  all  the  gravy  in  the  dish. 

I  hope  all  this  constitutes  a  broad  enough  hint  of  the  sort  of 
thing  that  disconcerted  me  in  Joey  as  he  changed  from  boy  to 
man.  It  is  very  irritating  in  Human  Nature  to  go  and  behave  so, 
especially  when  you  necessarily  must  and  do  love  the  creature  in 
which  the  change  is  wrought.  For  how  could  I  be  off  loving  Joseph 
Thorpe,  when  I  could  still  see  in  his  rather  hard  and  cold  eyes  the 
slightly  projecting  orbs  of  the  dear  little  midget  that  so  nearly 
got  stuck  to  his  sister  the  first  time  I  saw  him,  by  kissing  her  too 
tight  ?  and  could  hear  in  his  easy  and  melodious  speech  the  articula- 
tion of  the  baby  who  kept  us  all  amused  with  his  prompt  ap- 
propriation and  perversion  of  every  new  phrase  that  reached  his 
little  pink  ears?  Everybody  spoiled  Joey  in  those  days,  myself  as 
much  as  any  one.  There  are  some  children  whom  it  seems  natural 
to  spoil,  and  a  general  agreement  to  that  end  is  epidemic — so  much 
so  that  an  isolated  stand  against  it  only  makes  its  originator  un- 
popular. Such  a  stand  from  a  sense  of  duty  appears  like  a  con- 
demnation of  the  rest  of  the  world;  and  is  apt  to  be  imputed  to 
personal  dislike.  This  was  impossible  in  Joey's  case — at  least, 
while  he  was  still  a  baby.  He  was  lovable  per  se,  until  he  began 
showing  what  he  meant  to  be  like  later.  Besides  he  was  Lossie's 


JOSEPH   VANCE  155 

other  Joey,  so  of  course  he  was  ineligible  for  my  hatred.  He 
was  irritating  all  the  same,  especially  when  he  was  selfish  and 
ungrateful  to  his  sister,  who  spoiled  him  nearly  as  much  as  we 
did.  "  But  she  shouldn't  have  spoiled  him  at  all,"  I  hear  you  say  ? 
Very  well,  then !  She  shouldn't.  I  make  you  a  free  present  of  the 
admission,  but  it  can't  be  altered  now.  It's  too  late. 

Clearly,  in  these  early  days,  I  wasn't  in  love  with  Lossie.  Ask 
any  one  who  knows  the  Tender  Passion — he  or  she  will  at  once 
say  I  couldn't  have  been  in  love  with  her,  or  I  should  have  been 
jealous  of  my  young  namesake  and  hated  him.  I  didn't  then 
certainly,  and  changes  of  feeling  during  manhood  were  certainly 
not  connected  with  jealousy.  This  I  hope  to  explain  later,  if  I 
live  to  complete  this  narrative.  As  for  what  the  nature  of  my 
devotion  to  Lossie  was,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  it  resembled 
the  rich  gold  mine  Brer  Rabbit  made  for  himself.  It  was  an 
invention  of  my  own ;  and  I  still  think,  in  spite  of  everything  that 
has  happened,  that  of  all  my  many  inventions  it  is  the  one  that 
has  paid  best. 

Very  likely  other  things  in  this  narrative  may  be  made  by  me 
to  seem  improbable,  for  want  of  skill  in  the  telling.  And  yet, 
there  they  were! 

For  instance,  I  find  at  the  first  introduction  of  my  Father  to 
the  Thorpe  family,  that  he  appears  in  the  character  (socially 
speaking)  of  a  Man.  That  is  to  say,  he  belongs  to  the  class  that  is 
spoken  to  in  the  passage;  that  never  brings  its  tools  and  has  to  go 
away  for  them;  that  abounds  on  planks  and  ladders  overhead,  and 
calls  out  "  Be-low  "  to  the  earthbound  passer-by ;  that  is  sure  to  be 
out  of  the  house  by  Saturday  and  never  is.  And  now  I  am  writ- 
ing of  him  only  some  six  years  later  as  the  invited  guest  to  Dr. 
Thorpe's  table  on  Christmas  Day!  I  know  it  seems  improbable, 
but  it  is  not  that  the  succession  of  events  is  improbable;  only 
that  they  happened  within  a  very  short  time.  Let  us  imagine 
the  same  succession  of  events  in  double  the  time.  Figure  to  your- 
self that  a  Man  (as  per  description)  whom  you  were  first  conscious 
of  in  corduroy,  with  a  flavour,  reappears  in  twelve  months  in  a  suit 
of  tweed  and  a  hat  which,  though  a  billycock  in  proportion,  has  a 
stiff  brim  and  no  pocket-handkerchief  in  it.  Do  you  not  feel  it 
quite  natural  that  two  years  later,  when  he  calls  to  submit  an 
estimate,  he  should  do  so  in  a  neat  gig,  which  stands  at  the  door 
and  is  said  a  "  Who-ah  "  to,  while  you  confer  with  him  about  his 
wish  to  spare  you  expense?  And  three  years  later,  when  you  have 
wondered  whether  it  would  be  worth  his  while  now  to  undertake 
your  new  little  job  (three  times  as  big  as  the  other  little  job),  and 


156  JOSEPH  VANCE 

you  have  timidly  suggested  it,  does  it  not  seem  consecutive  that  he 
should  drive  up  to  your  door  in  a  bang-up  turn-out  and  pair, 
attired  in  broadcloth  and  yellow  kid  gloves,  and  a  sacred  stove- 
pipe hat  to  crown  all  ?  Of  course  it  does,  and  so  much  so  that  you 
will  probably  ask  him  if  he  won't  sit  down  and  take  some  lunch 
with  you  and  yours.  If  he  doesn't  this  time,  he  will  next.  It  is 
simply  a  question  of  time  and  a  sense  of  cheque-books. 

I  think  if  you  infuse  into  this  train  of  imaginary  incidents  an 
analogy  of  my  own  exceptional  relations  with  the  Thorpe  family 
and  take  my  word  for  the  authenticity  of  the  letters,  you  won't  feel 
so  very  incredulous  about  my  Father's  sudden  exaltation. 

Not  more,  perhaps,  than  I  do  at  this  moment.  For,  seeing  no 
chance  of  deciphering  more  of  the  letters  in  this  hideous  darkness, 
I  have  put  them  away  with  my  manuscript,  and  have  now  nothing 
to  bring  back  to  me  a  single  memory  of  those  days.  Even  the 
jargon  of  my  attendant,  which  I  feel  ought  by  rights  to  resemble 
that  of  Mrs.  Packles  or  Feener,  is  as  unlike  as  it  can  well  be. 
When  I  ask  her  what  was  that  row  last  night,  in  the  street  behind, 
just  on  to  midnight,  she  replies  that  it  was  a  lidy  with  a  biby, 
fighting  with  another  lidy,  and  both  were  took  off  to  the  stytion. 
Nobody  had  that  accent  in  my  boyhood.  Even  the  pothouse  from 
which  the  two  ladies  had  to  be  removed  is  completely  changed. 
In  the  fifties  I  know  exactly  what  it  was  like — flaring  gas-jets — • 
huge  plate-glass  windows  blocked  with  giant  numerals  printed 
on  paper  to  show  how  cheaply  the  filthy  fluids  on  sale  would  harden 
the  livers  and  soften  the  brains  of  their  consumers — a  compo  front 
painted  with  four  coats  of  stone-colour,  two  flat  and  two  round, 
every  three  years — all  woodwork  ditto  in  Brunswick  Brown — not 
because  it  was  the  George  the  Fourth,  but  because  that  brown  was 
a  good  out-o'-door  colour — and  a  flamboyant  Lion  and  Unicorn 
fighting  for  a  crown  much  too  big  for  either  of  them  on  the  corner 
of  the  first-floor. — It  is  still  the  George  the  Fourth,  but  the  gas- 
jets  no  longer  sow  wild  oats  of  lamp-black — they  are  ranges.  A 
wedding  of  Heat  and  Light  has  an  offspring  of  Incandescence,  and 
all  is  steady  and  demure.  The  announcements  on  the  windows  are 
glass  letters,  scorning  the  ephemeral,  and  recording  serene  facts 
superior  to  change.  The  compo  front  has  gone  and  is  now  rebuilt 
with  red-rubbers  and  terra-cotta  facings,  and  as  for  the  woodwork 
it  is  quite  beautiful  with  Art-colours,  and  the  entrance  to  the 
private  bar  is  lined  with  Art-tiles  covered  with  Art-lustres.  But 
the  owner  still  imports  his  own  Brandy,  and  all  the  other  filth  is 
what  it  was  in  the  other  filth-house.  Now,  as  then,  there  is  nothing 
to  eat,  except  it  be  sausages  and  mashed  potatoes.  Now,  as  then, 


JOSEPH  VANCE  157 

there  may  be  seen  on  Saturday  nights  an  oppressed  African  sing- 
ing, through  a  swing-door  on  the  jar,  of  the  joys  of  South  Carolina; 
for  George  the  Fourth  is  not  licensed  for  music,  and  he  has  to 
palter  idly  with  the  sacred  truth,  and  pretend  he  doesn't  notice. 
And  when  he  rewards  the  musician's  efforts,  he  pretends  it  isn't  a 
banjo  into  which  he  drops  his  coins,  but  some  inexplicable  res- 
onant ladle,  thrust  in  from  pure  greed,  by  a  passing  negro. 

I  noted  these  particulars  this  morning  before  the  fog  became  too 
thick  while  I  was  taking  my  morning  walk.  And  the  young 
woman  who  is  now  bringing  in  my  chop  was  doing  the  steps,  and 
her  apron  strap  coming  off  she  borrowed  a  pin  of  me,  and  while 
she  pinned  herself  up  for  further  kneeling,  she  told  me  about  the 
two  ladies,  and  I  stood  talking  to  her,  and  thought  her  hand  and 
arm  like  Vi  Thorpe's,  only  for  the  rough  work  and  soap  and 
water  spoiling  it.  No!  Now  that  the  letters  are  back  on  their 
shelf  in  the  chiffonier  under  the  book-case,  and  Betsy  Austin,  the 
young  lady  above  mentioned,  is  bringing  me  in  a  probably  under- 
done chop  and  potatoes  in  their  skins  with  buttons  on  them  in 
recesses  like  armchair  cushions, — (for  am  I  not  in  England?) — 
there  really  is  absolutely  nothing  in  the  room  to  bring  back  that 
remote  time.  And  I  am  sadly  in  want  of  landmarks  during  the 
latter  period  of  my  schooldays.  It  is  rather  like  a  voyage  on  a 
calm  sea  out  of  sight  of  land.  St.  Withold,  I  suppose,  was  too 
busy  with  the  new  boys  to  make  my  life  very  detestable  to  me,  or 
perhaps  my  inveterate  studiousness  procured  immunities.  I  was 
expected  to  do  the  school  credit,  and  had  peace.  In  my  holiday 
times  I  gave  a  good  deal  of  instruction  to  Joey  Thorpe,  and  found 
him  a  good  pupil — in  fact,  a  clever  one.  I  had  no  fault  with  him 
on  that  score.  He  developed  a  taste  for  literature;  and  had  a 
marked  faculty  for  clever  flippant  writing,  prose  and  verse,  which 
led  to  his  becoming  very  vain.  It  was  singular  that  a  boy 
who  had  had  so  very  little  schooling  should  have  matured  so 
early. 

I  mean  by  this  that  his  intelligence  matured,  and  he  read  con- 
tinually, and  remembered  what  he  read.  But  this  did  not  seem  to 
interfere  with  his  remaining  (the  phrase  was  Lossie's)  as  great  a 
baby  as  ever.  If  he  did  not  get  what  he  wanted,  he  would  become 
very  irritable,  and  almost  cry  with  vexation.  I  suppose  it  was 
this  seeming  childishness  that  made  us  hope  he  did  not  fully  un- 
derstand his  own  literary  propensities.  I  am  sure  Lossie  for  one 
did  not  believe  that  he  understood  half  the  expressions  he  made 
use  of  in  the  verse  he  wrote  (even  at  fifteen  or  sixteen) .  I  recollect 
his  father  saying  to  me  once,  "  I  wish  Joey  wouldn't  be  so  Anglo- 


158  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Saxon,"  and  I  remarked  I  supposed  it  was  the  modern  tendency 
in  poetry  to  discard  Latin  derivatives,  and  that  Tennyson  had  set 
the  example. 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I'm  referring  to  a 
practice  our  Anglo-Saxon  ancestors  had  of  always  calling  spades 
spades,  and  rarely  talking  about  anything  else.  Poor  Loss  said 
to  me  yesterday  after  he  read  us  his  last  new  verses  that  it  was  em- 
barrassingly Scriptural,  but  of  course  the  darling  child  hardly 
understood  what  he  had  written,  so  it  would  be  a  pity  to  say  any- 
thing to  him  about  it  and  make  him  think.  '  Oh,  don't  you  know, 
Papa,'  says  she,  '  when  it's  reading  the  Bible,  and  you  don't  know 
which  way  to  look ! '  If  it  wasn't  for  Lossie  I  should  read  Master 
Joey  a  lecture — but  she  seems  so  very  sure  that  he  doesn't  realize 
the  meaning  of  a  lot  of  what  he  writes,  and  only  uses  expressions 
that  have  acquired  a  standard  picturesqueness,  and  are  now  known 
to  be  right  in  Poetry,  that  I  really  feel  I  might  put  my  foot  in  it. 
Suppose  he  were  to  turn  on  me  and  ask  me  what  that  very  Eliza- 
bethan expression  he  used — you  remember? — really  meant!  I 
should  feel  bound  to  explain,  and  I'm  not  sure  I  shouldn't  do  best 
to  leave  it  alone.  I  keep  on  hoping  for  the  development,  in  Joey, 
of  the  faculty  of  Good  Taste,  as  we  old  fogies  used  to  call  it.  It's 
a  quality  of  the  inner  soul,  that  gives  a  bias  to  the  intellect.  So 
long  as  it  remains  dormant,  I  am  bound  to  say  I  object  to  Poets. 
Of  course  I  don't  object  to  Joey  altogether,  but  I  object  to  his 
faculties  growing  at  such  a  rate  while  he  himself  remains 
stationary." 

It  was  this  remark  of  Dr.  Thorpe  that  first  suggested  to  me  his 
view  that  we  afterwards  conversed  so  much  about;  that  when  we 
talk  of  the  Soul,  we  mean  the  Self,  and  that  it  would  be  a  far  more 
logical  way  to  talk  of  a  Soul's  Man  than  of  a  Man's  Soul.  If  so, 
we  ought  to  speak  sometimes  thus — "  That  splendid  soul  has  a 
little  snub-nosed,  squinting — hunchback,"  instead  of  "  That  little, 
etc.,  has  a  splendid  soul."  Or  vice  versa : — "  That  loathsome 
spiritual  mass  of  pestilent  meanness  and  depravity  has  a  remark- 
ably handsome  man,"  instead  of  "  That  remarkably  handsome 
man's  soul  is,  etc.,  etc."  But  I  am  slipping  away  from  Joey 
Thorpe.  Perhaps  in  what  I  have  written  I  have  scarcely  done 
justice  to  his  abilities.  I  ought  to  note  that  even  before  he  went 
to  the  University  he  had  already  achieved  a  certain  amount  of 
publication,  and  was  predicted  great  things  of  by  a  small  circle  of 
admirers.  His  father  could  not  help  being  proud  of  the  boy's 
cleverness,  superficial  and  flippant  as  both  he  and  I  thought  it. 
His  brother  Nolly  had  not  shown  any  very  marked  tastes,  except 


JOSEPH  VANCE  159 

for  Athletics,  and  as  long  as  he  could  make  record  jumps  and  row 
in  eights  and  bat  in  elevens,  he  asked  nothing  better.  He  ac- 
cepted his  destiny  tranquilly,  and  went  into  the  Law  because  the 
way  was  paved  for  him.  He  would  gladly  have  stopped  out  of  the 
Law  and  everything  else  if  left  to  himself  and  the  cultivation  of 
his  biceps.  But  the  Law,  in  the  shape  of  Aldridge,  Spencer, 
Spencer  &  Aldridge's  office,  gaped  for  him  and  a  monetary  ac- 
companiment, and  at  the  end  of  a  few  years  he  was  able  to  reserve 
his  opinion  almost  as  well  as  Mr.  Spencer  himself.  It  is  very 
funny  to  think  of  him  now.  For  though  I  have  not  seen  him  for 
twenty  years,  I  hear  things;  and  among  others  I  have  heard  that 
Mr.  Oliver  Thorpe — (Spencer,  Aldridge,  Thorpe  &  Flowerdew) — 
has  a  residence  in  Surrey  called  The  Magnolias,  and  that  he  comes 
still  to  Charing  Cross  Station,  every  other  day,  and  has  a  cab 
to  his  clerk's-nest  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  and  always  gives 
eighteenpence,  or  even  two  shillings  if  he  hasn't  a  sixpence,  to  the 
cabman — who,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  was  my  informant  on  all  these 
points.  He  was  an  observant  man,  who  was  just  going  to  take 
back  to  its  owner  a  card-case  he  had  found  in  his  cab,  which  at 
first  he  had  thought  was  mine — an  incident  which  had  led  to 
conversation,  and  to  a  joint  inspection  of  the  contents  of  the  card- 
case,  actually  Nolly  Thorpe's!  I  suspect  that  cabman  retailed  to 
him  his  interview  with  (very  probably)  an  Old  Cock  who  looked 
surprised. — Nolly  would  have  looked  so  too,  had  he  known  what 
Old  Cock. 

It  is  strange  to  think  of !  But  it  is  stranger  still  to  me  to  think 
as  I  sit  here  and  choke  in  the  fog,  and  decline  Betsy  Austin's 
proposal  to  bring  lights,  because  then  she  may  see  tears  in  my 
face  that  are  not  due  to  fog  alone,  but  to  a  thought  of  the  joy  it 
would  have  been  to  me  to  see  dear  old  Nolly's  face  again,  and  hold 
his  hand — it  is  stranger  still  to  think  that  even  now,  at  this  very 
moment,  there  is  living  in  a  Villa  at  the  foot  of  Fiesole  Hill — 
about  five  minutes'  walk  along  the  road  that  goes  a  destra  just 
before  you  get  to  the  big  church  at  San  Domenico — an  old  English 
lady  who  went  to  live  there  twenty  years  ago,  and  who  was  Lossie. 
— I  know  all  about  the  place  although  I  shall  never  see  her  again, 
nor  she  me.  But  as  I  look  at  the  white  wafer  behind  the  curling 
fog-reek  that  I  know  is  the  sun  in  the  country,  I  think  of  the  sole 
di  marzo  blazing  on  the  roses  in  that  Tuscan  heat-trap;  of  the 
rifted  trunks  and  dark  leaves  and  light  leaves  of  the  olives ;  of  the 
mighty  deliberation  of  the  great  white  oxen  that  no  man  can  make 
to  go  quicker  or  stop;  of  the  scraps  of  song  that  all  end  in  one 
cadence,  and  make  one  feel  how  very  much  one  really  is  in  Tus- 


160  JOSEPH  VANCE 

cany.    And  then  I  wonder  if  this  old  English  lady  ever  thinks 
of  me. 

Looked  at  from  the  point  of  view  of  common  sense  (whatever 
that  means)  it  is  clearly  better  that  she  should  not.  What  has 
she  to  gain  by  it?  Nothing  but  pain  and  discomfort.  For  one 
thing  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to — that  she  shall  never  know  the 
truth.  Much  better  for  her  to  forget  my  existence  altogether. 
Probably  she  does,  for  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  what  a  long 
long  time  it  is  I 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HOW  DR.  THORPE  VISITED  JOE  AT  OXFORD,  AND  HOW  THAT  VISIT  ENDED 
THE  FIRST  MOVEMENT  OF  JOE?S  LIFE  ON  A  DISCORD.  OF  HIS  PAINFUL 
DOUBLE  IDENTITY. 

IN  the  autumn  of  1860  I  was  a  young  man  reading  at  Oxford, 
whose  friends  were  kind  enough  to  expect  him  to  do  great  things. 
He  felt  the  burden  of  his  responsibilities  severely,  and  that  he  was 
bound,  under  penalties,  to  triumph  in  a  contest  in  which  an 
untimely  attack  of  summer-complaint  might  render  useless 
the  scholarship  of  Erasmus  and  the  mathematics  of  Newton 
and  Leibnitz  combined. 

I  do  not  mean  that  my  friends  were  exceptionally  ill- judging; 
indeed,  I  think  they  did  their  best.  But  they  were  bad  actors. 
Perhaps  as  safe  a  line  to  go  on  as  any  was  the  one  adopted  by  my 
Father.  "You'll  bring  me  ?ome  your  wooden  spoon,  Joe,  when 
you've  got  it,"  he  used  to  say.  For  he  was  not  very  clear  about 
the  curricula  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and  confused  the  one 
with  the  other.  This  was  better  than  expressing  overweening 
confidence  with  a  slightest  possible  sense  of  gasp  in  the  back- 
ground. But  better  even  than  this  would  have  been  the  attitude 
of  Porky  Owls,  who  would  have  expressed  doubts  of  the  ability 
of  the  University  to  examine,  and  certainty  of  my  inability  to 
pass  creditably,  in  the  same  breath.  He  would  have  enquired  who 
the  Senate  was,  ridin'  the  igh  'orse  and  givin*  themselves  airs ;  dis- 
paraged reading  as  a  means  of  acquiring  information,  and  prob- 
ably condemned  knowledge  itself  as  a  useless  and  artificial  luxury 
of  stuck-uppers.  He  lived  in  a  bracing  atmosphere  and  rejoiced 
in  its  entire  freedom  from  Rot. 

I  suppose  it  was  the  Boats,  on  one  morning  of  this  particular 
autumn  of  1860,  that  made  me  think  of  Porky,  in  his  capacity  of 
British  Seaman,  as  I  took  some  early  sculling  exercise  to  qualify 
me  for  a  good  day  of  undisturbed  reading.  I  sculled  upstream  as 
far  as  Godstowe  lock,  and  wondered  what  Porky  looked  like  now, 
with  open  collar-bones  and  a  richly  bronzed  skin,  perhaps  rowing 
at  this  moment  in  quite  another  style,  forcing  some  huge  yawl  a 

161 


162  JOSEPH  VANCE 

few  inches  ut  a  time  against  a  head  wind  and  tide,  every  move- 
ment seeming  more  loss  than  gain,  till  the  mere  landsman  decides 
in  his  land-mind  that  they  never  can  and  never  will  make  some 
point  they  are  striving  for.  And  decides  all  wrong  of  course, 
because  shortly  for  some  mysterious  reason  only  perceived  by  a 
sea-mind,  behold  the  end  attained  and  the  boat  gliding  easily 
along  in  oily  waters,  and  never  a  thole-pin  broken  under  the 
mighty  strain! 

How  easily  /  went  slipping  up  the  stream!  It  was  a  glorious 
cloudless  morning  at  the  end  of  August,  and  thinking  of  the  tough 
work  of  the  imaginary  boat  I  had  placed  Porky  in  made  my  own 
slight  work  seem  slighter.  And  just  below  the  lock,  as  I  allowed 
him  and  his  crew  to  get  into  smoother  water,  there  came  up  behind 
me  the  musical  rhythm  of  eight  oars  going  downstream  apace, 
whereof  the  stroke  called  out  to  me  firstly  was  that  Vance  of 
Balliol  ? — which  it  was,  and  secondly  that  Dr.  Thorpe  was  up,  hav- 
ing come  by  the  late  train  last  night,  and  something  more  quite 
inaudible.  For  strokes  of  eights  pass  quickly  out  of  hearing,  and 
even  at  the  best,  when  working  hard,  are  not  in  good  shouting 
form.  So  I  had  to  be  content  with  that  much  information,  that 
Dr.  Thorpe  was  in  Oxford,  and  had  come  unexpectedly  by  the 
late  train  last  night.  And  what  became  of  the  imaginary  crew 
of  Porky  Owls's  boat  I  do  not  know,  for  my  mind  set  out  at  once 
to  seek  for  a  reason  why  the  Doctor  should  come  quite  suddenly 
to  Oxford  in  this  abnormal  way,  without  so  much  as  a  word  of 
warning.  It  was  certainly  odd!  I  turned  down  the  stream,  and 
pretended  I  wasn't  a  little  uneasy. 

I  don't  believe  any  one  has  had  so  happy  a  life  but  what  there 
have  been  in  it  well-marked  moments  at  which  he  would  not 
sooner  have  stopped  abruptly  than  go  on.  Had  I  my  life  to  live 
again  I  would  soonest,  being  free  to  choose,  go  no  further  than 
the  moment  when  I  arrived,  a  new  boy,  at  the  school  at  Helstaple. 
If  I  could  not  avoid  that  new  experience,  and  were  obliged  to  go 
through  with  it,  and  then  face  my  Mother's  death,  I  would  put 
up  an  express  petition  to  Destiny  that  I  might  get  no  further  than 
the  moment  when  I  was  happily  dreaming,  in  the  shade  of  the 
alders  and  willows,  on  the  difference  between  sea  and  river  rowing, 
and  wondering  what  had  become  of  my  old  friend  Porky  Owls. 
This  is  why  I  have  been  at  some  pains  to  describe  that  moment, 
which  otherwise  has  no  bearing  whatever  on  my  story. 

Mr.  Bossum's  man  at  the  boathouse  remarked  that  I  hadn't  been 
long  agone  this  morning,  which  was  true.  I  held  to  my  pretence 
that  I  was  not  anxious,  to  the  extent  of  walking  slower  than  I 


JOSEPH   VANCE  163 

wanted  to  at  first,  but  I  forgot  to  keep  it  up,  before  I  had  got  half- 
way through  Jericho,  and  broke  into  a  brisk  walk.  I  was  glad  when, 
1  saw  the  Doctor,  close  by  the  Martyr's  Memorial,  in  the  shade  for 
the  sun  was  hot,  evidently  waiting  for  me.  Before  I  saw  his  face 
clearly,  I  saw  it  had  an  anxiety  on  it.  But  oh  no! — noth- 
ing was  the  matter!  I  took  his  word  for  it,  and  pretended  I  was 
satisfied.  But  we  were  not  quite  like  our  two  selves  when  all 
things  were  at  their  rightest. 

"  Oh  no !  "  said  he  again.  "  Nothing's  the  matter.  I  came  over 
to  look  at  a  cranium.  I'm  writing  a  paper  on  the  Missing  Link — 
and  I  couldn't  feel  satisfied  unless  I  saw  this  skull  myself.  It's 
only  a  few  hours,  after  all!  Besides,  I  always  like  a  visit  to 
Oxford.  Only  I  wish  to  goodness  they  would  leave  the  Colleges 
alone — they'll  soon  all  be  as  clean  and  smooth  as  creamlaid  note. 
Why  shouldn't  they  peel  if  they  like?  They  aren't  infectious 
when  they  peel,  like  scarlet-fever  patients — why  not  let  two  inches 
of  stone  come  off  a  three-foot  thick  wall  ? " 

"  Isn't  there  some  notion  that  the  front  surface  coming  off  lets 
the  water  in  ?  How's  Lossie  ? " 

"  Lossie's  very  well. — If  they  think  that,  I  can  tell  them  as  a 
geologist,  that  they  are  what  your  Father  would  call  etcetera 
fools — we  understand,  eh,  Joe?  Because  the  absorbent  stone 
comes  away  and  leaves  the  hard  non-absorbent.  That's  why  they 
have  been  in  statu  quo  such  a  long  time.  Don't  you  see,  Joe? 
It  isn't  as  if  the  decay  could  go  on,  on,  on,  through  the  block " 

I  saw  and  acquiesced.  But  keenly  as  I  should  have  discussed 
the  subject  another  time,  I  felt  it  could  wait,  and  indeed  suspected 
it  was  being  made  the  most  of  for  some  strategic  purpose ;  and  this 
wasn't  like  the  Doctor.  I  felt  that  he  had  not  been  quite  natural 
when  I  asked  after  Lossie.  "  Very  well "  was  very  well  as  far  as 
it  went — but  it  ought  to  have  been  much  more.  I  asked  how  were 
Vi  and  Nolly  and  Joe?  And,  for  that  matter,  Aunt  Izzy? 

"  Deafer  than  ever !  "  said  Dr.  Thorpe.  "  Of  course  one  doesn't 
wonder  when  she  hears  a  dog  is  a  Dalmatian,  and  thinks  the 
speaker  is  swearing.  Nor  when  Vi  says  she  has  been  shopping 
and  she  says,  '  But  who  was  it  said  so,  dear  ?  I'm  sure  7  never 
thought  you  shocking '  In  these  cases  the  missing  link  is  ob- 
vious! But  when  it  comes  to  her  being  shouted  to  that  Canon 
Pennefather  is  in  the  drawing-room,  and  she  goes  downstairs  and 
deliberately  enquires  after  Mrs.  Cox,  it  gets  impossible — how  on 
earth  Mrs.  Cox  crept  in  we  never  could  make  out ! " 

"  How's  Vi  going  on  with  the  Bart  ?  " 

"  Oh — ah ! — the  Bart — yes,  that's  the  one  she  has  on  at  wresent 


164  JOSEPH   VANCE 

She  may  become  Lady  Towerstairs,  or  she  may  not!  I  never 
speculate  now  about  Vi." 

He  became  distrait  for  a  moment,  then  said,  "  She's  six-and- 
twenty,  you  know — going  for  seven-and-twenty."  And  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  say  something  about  Lossie,  but  he  became  absent 
and  thoughtful  again.  We  had  arrived  at  my  rooms,  and  the 
navigation  of  a  rather  dark  stairway  supplied  a  satisfactory  reason 
for  silence. 

The  Doctor  had  not  breakfasted,  but  did  not  seem  to  take  very 
cordially  to  doing  so.  He  became  much  interested  in  the  backs 
of  my  books. 

"  Regiomontanus,  Nicholas  of  Cusa,  Tredgold  on  the  Steam- 
engine!  That's  a  sudden  jump,  Joe! — What  do  want  with  Tred- 
gold on  the  Steam  Engine?  He's  more  in  the  line  of  that  poor 
gobblestick — what's  his  name — Thistlethwayte."  This  was  an 
enthusiast  who  had  invented  a  perpetual  motion,  and  wanted  the 
Doctor  to  get  the  Royal  Society  to  grant  him  two  thousand  pounds 
to  construct  a  wheel  which  was  to  rotate  forever  on  its  axis  in  a 
vacuum.  The  Doctor  continued:  "Do  you  know,  that  poor  chap 
is  still  at  it!  He  came  to  me  only  a  few  days  ago,  with  his 
machine  rotating  on  its  axis  in  his  poor  vacuum  of  a  brain,  and  I 
was  obliged  to  lend  him  a  few  shillings  to  keep  him  from  starva- 
tion. Don't  you  go  doing  the  same,  Joe.  Leave  the  inventions 
alone.  They're  the  Deuce's  own  delight!  Once  you  begin,  it's 
like  dram-drinking  or  Monte  Carlo " 

The  effect  of  the  introduction  of  vital  interests  was  wholesome 
and  I  was  glad  of  the  new  departure,  although  I  had  to  confess  up 
in  respect  of  irregularities  in  reading.  "  Anyhow,  Doctor,"  said  I, 
"you'll  admit  that  if  poor  Thistlethwayte  had  begun  by  reading 
Tredgold  as  carefully  as  I've  done,  he  wouldn't  have  invented  the 
Universal  Lubricant." 

"  Well — he  might  have  invented  his  Universal  Lubricant  with- 
out reading  Tredgold,  and  yet  known  that  he  couldn't  abolish  fric- 
tion. His  Lubricant  is  very  greasy,  no  doubt,  but  he  has  no 
notion  how  little  friction  it  takes  to  stop  a  wheel  in  a  billion  of 
years » 

"  Hasn't  his  Lubricant  a  commercial  value  ? — I  mean  without 
considering  the  Perpetual  Motion  idea  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  it  has.  But  he  won't  patent  it,  because  that 
involves  publication,  and  wicked  capitalists  will  cut  in  and  use 
it  for  Perpetual  Motions  before  he  can,  and  take  the  bread  out  of 
his  mouth  and  his  children's — nine  children  he  has,  Joe,  and 
another  coming  I " 


JOSEPH   VANCE  165 

I  hoped  the  anxiety  on  the  Doctor's  face  was,  after  all,  about 
this  chap.  Only  it  seemed  so  out  of  proportion.  However,  he 
was  clearly  an  element  of  disquiet. 

"I've  done  the  best  I  can,"  continued  Dr.  Thorpe;  "I've  told 
him  that  if  a  leaden  peg-top  as  big  as  the  sun  started  in  vacua  at 
a  billion  revolutions  per  second " 

"  It  would  want  a  very  carefully  tempered  steel  peg,  and  a  good 
hard  piece  of  ground  to  stand  on,"  said  I. 

«  \yell_yes— it  would!  Anyhow,  I  told  Mr.  Thistlethwayte  it 
must  slow  down  in  the  course  of  a  few  billions  of  billions  of  years, 
because  even  if  he  lived  to  keep  the  peg  lubricated  there  would  be 
some  friction." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  That  he  had  ventured  to  hope  I  should  talk  seriously !  And 
he  seemed  so  hurt,  that  I  offered  to  pay  his  Patent  fees  if  he  would 
publish.  But  he  declined.  I  think  he  suspected  me  of  wanting  to 
take  advantage  of  him!  So  just  you  be  warned  by  him,  Joe,  and 
don't  be  an  Inventor " 

"  It's  only  a  Spherical  Engine  with  a  new  reciprocating  move- 
ment, and  I'm  not  going  to  think  about  it  seriously  till  I've 
passed.  How's  Joey  ?  " 

"  Oh — Joey's  very  well — very  well !  "  And  I  was  sorry  that  in 
my  anxiety  to  leave  the  subject  of  my  inventive  propensity — about 
which,  in  truth,  I  felt  very  guilty — I  had  chanced  back  to  a 
renewal  of  Dr.  Thorpe's  anxious  aspect,  which  I  had  hoped  was 
going  to  vanish.  He  became  again  thoughtful,  hesitating,  de- 
pressed— seemed  to  be  going  to  speak,  and  said  nothing.  At  last 
he  pulled  himself  together  in  a  sort  of  recapitulative  way,  as  one 
who  reports  progress  and  declares  his  next  step  in  advance,  and 
said  well  now  it  was  time  for  him  to  be  off!  He  would  go  to  see 
the  cranium,  and  there  were  one  or  two  people  he  wanted  to  speak 
to,  and  he  would  be  back  about  lunch-time.  Even  then  he  did  not 
go  without  a  recurrence  of  the  hesitating  manner,  but  it  came  to 
nothing  and  he  started  off  to  look  at  the  cranium.  I  watched  him 
along  the  street  and  saw  him  stop  once  or  twice,  and  stand  rub- 
bing his  chin  thoughtfully.  I  went  back  to  Pindar,  who  was  the 
classic  I  was  engaged  in  assimilating  at  that  time.  But  I  was 
puzzled  and  uneasy,  and  Pindar  disagreed  with  me — especially 
when  I  reflected  that  the  Doctor  had  hardly  said  a  word  about 
Lossie  in  all  our  conversation,  of  which  of  course  the  above  only 
contains  the  salient  points. 

He  came  back  as  he  had  said,  and  after  eating  very  little  lunch, 
walked  out  with  me  in  the  grounds.  I  cannot  remember  exactly 


166  JOSEPH  VANCE 

how  it  came  in,  but  he  used  the  expression  "this  new  engage- 
ment," and  I,  understanding  that  he  was  speaking  about  Vi's 
last,  made  some  absent-minded  comment,  asked  about  the 
Towerstairs  family,  or  something  of  that  sort — I  really  forget 
what. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  he.  "8Srou  don't  understand.  I  was 
not  speaking  about  Vi's  engagement — I  was  speaking  of  Los- 
sie's." 

Sometimes  the  mind  opposes  automatically  the  receipt  of  fatal 
news,  from  some  anticipative  instinct,  without  its  owner  at  all 
knowing  why  it  rejects  it.  I  found  myself  quite  unable  to  attach 
any  meaning  to  the  Doctor's  words. 

"  I  was  speaking  of  Lossie's  engagement — she  has  got  herself 
engaged  to  be  married." 

"  Is  Lossie  engaged  to  be  married  ? "  I  heard  myself  speaking 
quite  calmly  to  the  Doctor.  He  put  his  arm  in  mine — 

"I  was  not  sure  she  had  not  written  to  tell  you,"  said  he,  half 
interrogatively.  But  I  felt  that  he  was  saying  something  to  gain 
a  minute,  or  to  gain  a  foothold,  or  to  find  something  on  which  to 
hinge  what  we  should  say  next.  I  did  not  look  at  him,  but  I 
knew  that  his  eyes — so  like  Lossie's! — turned  round  to  me  at  in- 
tervals; and  we  walked  on,  the  truth  of  the  position  working 
slowly  into  my  mind.  Concurrently,  I  became  aware  that  he  did 
see,  and  had  seen,  more  clearly  than  I  even  now  began,  to  see,  the 
bearing  of  the  news  he  had  to  tell  on  my  own  life  and  its  future.  I 
should  have  been  well  pleased  to  be  able  to  say  to  him  in  the  in- 
terval of  comparative  calm  in  which  I  awaited  the  full  truth, 
which  I  knew  was  coming,  how  I  loved  his  kind  heart  for  its 
love  and  fears  for  me.  Both  of  which,  strange  to  say,  I  felt  to 
know  much  better  than  their  agitating  cause.  But  I  said  nothing, 
and  we  walked  on  in  silence. 

Some  tacit  compact  between  us  made  the  silence  a  long  one, 
but  in  the  end  it  was  I  who  spoke — I  was  not  in  love  with  the 
sound  of  my  own  voice  when  it  came. 

"  If  Lossie  has  given  her  word  she  will  keep  it.  But  I  have  had 
no  letter  yet. — What  is  his  name?  I  mean  what  is  the  name  of 


"Man?  It  is  General  Desprez.  He  is  a  very  distinguished 
soldier — you  know  the  name  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  She  went  to  stay  for  a  week  at  the  Vandeleurs*.  He  was  there, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  week  he  made  her  an  offer  and  she  accepted 
him. — I  know !  It  was  very  sudden " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  167 

"Yes — that  is  what  I  was  going  to  say." 

"Very  sudden,  indeed.  But  with  Lossie,  very  sudden  means 
very  serious. — She  isn't  Vi " 

"  You  have  seen  him  ? " 

"He  came  up  with  her  from  the  Vandeleurs'  on  Saturday  and 
they  came  direct  to  me.  Of  course  formally,  with  his  rigid  ideas 
of  duty,  his  position  was  that  he  had  asked  Lossie's  leave  to  speak 
to  me — people  go  through  these  farces,  but  they  are  all  gam- 
mon!" 

He  stopped  to  take  snuff — then  put  his  arm  again  in  mine. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  "  they  are  all  gammon.  Of  course  the  whole 
thing  was  settled  past  any  possible  unsettling.  Two  more  un- 
demonstrative lovers  I  never  saw,  in  public,  but  nevertheless  no 
one  could  be  five  minutes  in  the  room  with  them  and  not  see  all 

about  it "  I  had  interjected  a  direct  enquiry  whether  Dr. 

Thorpe  liked  him,  and  he  finished  his  sentence  and  then  replied, 
"  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  him,  and  I  know  I  shall  like  him  in 
time,  but — Good-morning !  " 

He  stopped  short,  and  we  got  through  a  brief  interview  with  a 
casual  sub-librarian,  who  I  am  sure  never  suspected  that  anything 
was  going  wrong  with  either  of  us.  Then  he  continued:  "Yes — 
Joe — I  know  I  shall  like  him  in  time.  But  Lossie  is  Lossie." 

Yes — that  was  what  was  wrong.    Lossie  was  Lossie — • 

"  I  suppose  Fathers  are  naturally  a  selfish  class,  but  it  can't  be 
helped!  Anthropoid  Apes  are  selfish,  I  believe,  and  no  doubt 
Fathers  are  descended  from  them.  I  shan't  find  it  at  all  easy  to 
reconcile  myself  to  Lossie  going  away  to  India,  as  she  no  doubt 
will." 

I  had  not  realized  this  contingency,  but  it  seemed  to  make  no 
difference  in  the  calamity;  at  least  in  my  share  of  it. — The  thing 
was  too  new,  and  I  was  too  stunned  to  discern  in  this  indifference 
any  light  thrown  on  the  nature  of  my  affection  for  Lossie.  I  see 
it  now. 

"  You  can  fancy,  my  dear  boy,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  how  em- 
barrassingly mixed  any  Father's  feelings  must  be  over  a  thing 
like  this.  Even  if  I  could  have  been  inclined  to  quarrel  with  a 
man  Lossie  loved,  which  is  absurd,  how  could  I  find  any  fault 
with  this  one?  A  splendid  soldier,  a  cultivated  man,  writer, 
traveller,  what  not?  There  was  not  even  the  vernacular  ground 
of  difficulty-monger  ing  of  the  marriage-blocker,  the  money  con- 
sideration; for  he  is  next  heir  to  Stoat's-Leaze  in  Derbyshire  and 
the  present  owner  is  eighty-two  and  in  a  madhouse — or  something 
of  the  sort.  Of  course  I  know  I  ought  to  be  rejoicing  over  the 


168  JOSEPH  VANCE 

splendid  match.  But,  Lossie  going  away  to  India!  It's  no  use, 
Joe,  Fathers  cannot  help  being  Fathers " 

"  Nor  brothers  brothers,"  said  I.  And  then  some  question 
stirred  in  some  obscure  corner  of  my  mind,  and  asked  if  this 
remark  was  really  germane  to  the  matter.  And  when  Dr.  Thorpe 
repeated  after  me,  "  Nor  brothers  brothers,  as  you  say,  Joe  dear," 
it  threatened  to  become  more  audible,  and  I  was  fain  to  silence  it 
by  an  effort  of  will. 

We  walked  in  and  about  the  grounds  and  quads  of  the  Colleges, 
stopping  a  good  deal,  I  remember,  in  the  quad  of  University,  be- 
cause the  Doctor  liked  the  mouldering  stone  (it  has  been  made 
quite  neat  and  tidy  many  years  ago  now),  before  we  turned  back  to 
my  rooms.  We  talked  over  every  aspect  of  Lossie's  engagement 
except  the  one  uppermost  in  both  our  minds,  and  this  we 
scrupulously  avoided.  Each  of  us  knew  the  other's  thoughts,  but 
neither  communicated  his  own — unless  indeed  a  lengthened-out 
grasp  of  the  hand  in  silence  when  we  parted  at  the  Kailway 
Station  could  count  as  a  communication.  I  persuaded  the  Doctor 
not  to  stop  on;  or  rather  I  should  say  my  way  of  asking  him  to 
stay  was  unconvincing,  and  he  decided  to  hold  by  his  statement 
that  he  must  be  back  at  Poplar  Villa  by  nine  o'clock.  His  judg- 
ment that  this  was  best  for  my  sake  was  perfectly  right.  The 
light  feverish  attack  that  followed  would  have  been  ten  times 
worse  if  he  had  stayed. 

After  I  had  taken  leave  of  him  I  went  away  for  a  long  walk 
towards  Witney,  but  did  not  go  so  far,  although  I  had  a  vague 
intention  of  doing  so.  I  turned  back  at  Eynsham  and  got  back  to 
College  long  after  feeding-time.  But  I  did  not  want  anything  to 
eat — I  wanted  to  find  out  what  had  happened — to  be  able  to 
visualize  or  localize  the  event — to  make  the  simple  fact  I  had  just 
heard,  that  a  young  lady  I  knew  was  going  to  make  a  most 
fortunate  marriage,  take  its  place  quietly  among  other  facts,  and 
settle  down  for  me  to  deal  calmly  with  it.  It  was  a  most  reason- 
able thing  in  itself.  Why  should  it  roar  and  throb  in  my  brain, 
and  make  my  eyes  and  my  palate  dry  up?  7  was  there,  all  right 
enough!  It  had  not  hurt  me.  I  was  looking  on  perfectly  calmly 
at  a  brain  that  persisted  in  throbbing,  and  at  something  that  was 
swelling  in  the  throat  of  an  unreasonable  young  man — unreason- 
able in  being  so  strangely  affected  by  something  I  had  just  heard — 
something  which,  if  he  had  had  a  spark  of  real  good  feeling  or 
common  sense,  he  would  at  once  have  seen  he  ought  to  rejoice  at. 
I  was  angry  with  him  for  his  selfishness,  but  I  was  so  concerned 
for  his  burning  palate  that  I  got  him  some  brandy  and  soda,  the 


JOSEPH   VANCE  169 

only  thing  he  could  swallow.  He  drank  it  down  and  lit  a  pipe, 
and  the  effect  was  thus  far  good  that  he  partly  perceived  his 
identity  with  myself. 

He  and  I  then  (to  pursue  my  attempt  to  picture  a  frame  of 
mind  that  was  perfectly  real,  and  can  be  explained  in  no  other 
way)  sat  smoking  in  the  half -dark,  trying  to  get  things  into  order. 
We  needed  no  light,  for  the  harvest  moon  was  very  large  and 
very  golden,  and  meant  soon  when  it  was  well  up  to  bathe  Oxford 
town  in  silver.  I  tried  to  remonstrate  with  him,  and  pointed  out 
his  absurdity  in  expecting  that  Lossie  Thorpe  should  always  re- 
main as  it  were  on  draught,  for  his  special  behoof  and  satisfac- 
tion when  he  went  up  to  town — "  Do  you  imagine,"  I  asked,  "  that 
her  father,  her  sister,  or  her  brother  ever  contemplated  that  she 
would  remain  at  home  indefinitely  for  their  sakes.  And  who  are 
you,  that  you  should  claim  what  they  do  not?  Or  do  you  really 
mean,  you  presumptuous  young  ass,  that  your  silly  boyish  aspira- 
tions lay  claim  to  be  considered  Love — Love  with  a  big  L,  that 
produces  Marriage  and  Jealousy  and  Murder  and  all  sorts  of 
grown-up  things  that  boys  in  their  second  year  at  Oxford  have 
really  no  business  with?  If  so,  I  must  trouble  you  to  remember 
that  you  are  between  nineteen  and  twenty,  and  Lossie  Thorpe  is  a 
woman  of  twenty-four " 

The  other-self  young  man  interrupted  me,  with  more  spirit 
than  I  had  given  him  credit  for :  "  I  cannot  analyze  what  is  meant 
by  Love,  nor  can  I  say  what  it  is  in  her  father's,  brother's,  sister's 
affection  that  differs  from  mine.  I  only  know  that  when  she  goes 
out  of  my  life,  a  Light  disappears  from  it  that  will  never  return, 
and  for  which  no  substitute  is  possible.  And  I  know  there  is  no 
exit  from  my  life  for  her  so  effectual  as  Marriage  with  another 
man.  Death  would  separate  us  less." 

"You  are  a  foolish  young  undergraduate,"  I  replied;  "I  shall  go 
to  bed  and  try  to  get  a  little  sleep." 

I  did  so,  but  I  could  not  sleep  a  wink,  or  rather  the  other  young 
man  could  not.  Of  course  if  he  had  not  been  me  it  would  not 
have  mattered ;  but  he  persisted,  and  the  fact  that  I  was  in  perfect 
health,  quite  calm  and  collected,  and  not  the  least  overworked, 
was  allowed  no  weight  whatever.  He  lay  there  staring  into  the 
darkness  (for  I  had  shut  the  moon  out)  and  listening  to  the 
chiming  of  the  hours,  which  seemed  to  follow  each  other  too 
quickly,  without  the  least  affecting  the  total  length  of  the  night. 
His  brain  went  on  burning — his  palate  got  drier.  Consequently 
I  got  no  sleep,  and  when  a  gleam  of  dawn  and  a  sound  of  sparrows 
gave  me  an  excuse  for  getting  up,  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  doing 


170  JOSEPH  VANCE 

so  when  this  inconsequent  young  man's  system  suddenly  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  it  was  worn  out,  and  made  me  fall  into  a  stupid 
sleep  of  unrecollectable  dreams,  which  shortly  became  torpor,  from 
which  I  woke  slowly  and  painfully  to  find  the  world  all  alive,  and 
the  bell  ringing  for  chapel. 

At  first  (of  course)  I  could  not  tell  what  had  happened — I  only 
realized  that  there  was  an  awful  Something  that  would  have  to 
be  recollected  soon.  It  was  useless  attempting  to  preserve  my 
torpidity  to  avoid  it.  It  came,  without  remorse!  And  I  knew 
that  in  this  next  year  to  come  what  had  been  music  in  the  past  ten 
years  would  be  silence — what  had  been  sunlight  would  be  shadow. 
I  had  realized  that,  even  if  Lossie  lived  in  England  still,  even  if  I 
could  go  to  her  as  of  old  for  sympathy  in  trouble  and  encourage- 
ment in  work,  it  would  not  be  the  same  thing.  And  in  this  fact 
lay  the  worst  sting.  She,  I  knew,  would  love  me  with  just  the 
same  love  she  had  given  to  the  little  boy  that  picked  the  pears; 
but  I  had  made  a  dreadful  discovery  about  the  nature  of  things 
human,  and  the  gruesome  task  before  me  was  to  conceal  that  dis- 
covery from  Lossie.  Her  father  knew  it,  and  I  knew  he  knew  it, 
but  I  could  see  in  a  hundred  ways  how  entirely  unconscious  she 
herself  might  be.  If  the  slightest  doubt  about  this  could  have 
crossed  my  mind,  it  must  have  been  dissipated  by  the  letter,  de- 
layed in  the  post  (or  wrongly  delivered  at  first),  which  I  found  on 
my  breakfast  plate  when  I  at  last  appeared,  presenting  to  my 
scout  a  haggard  face,  which  I  think  he  ascribed  to  a  last  night's 
orgie : 

"  POPLAR  VILLA,  Aug.  14,  1860. 

"  MY  DEAR  LITTLE  JOE  :  You  will  be  so  glad,  I  know,  to  hear  of 
the  great  happiness  that  has  come  to  me.  I  am  engaged  to  be 
married  to  General  Hugh  Desprez.  You  know  all  about  him  from 
the  newspapers.  Don't  you  remember  how  we  read  about  the  re- 
lief of  Lucknow,  two  years  ago,  and  you  said  of  all  the  men  you 
would  '  like  to  be  you  would  soonest  be  Colonel  Desprez '  ?  And 
he  is  that  very  same  Colonel  Desprez  and  he  is  as  good  as  he  is 
great  and  brave,  and  I  am  indeed  a  happy  woman.  I  have  told 
him  all  about  you,  dear  Joe,  and  he  is  so  anxious  to  know  you — 
and  you  may  fancy  how  I  look  forward  to  your  knowing  him.  The 
only  blot  on  the  'scutcheon  is  that  I  shall  go  to  India  and  have  to 
leave  Papa  behind  and  my  two  Joes — my  little  brother  and  my 
other  little  brother — and  the  others.  But  I  shall  go,  and  then 
when  I  come  back  I  know  I  shall  find  a  distinguished  Oxford 
Graduate.  How  I  shall  look  forward  to  getting  the  news  when 


JOSEPH  VANCE  171 

your  year  comes!    I  should  like  to  write  so  much  more,  dear  Joe, 
only  I  have  so  much  to  write. 

"  Good-bye,  dear.  Ever  your  affectionate, 

«  LOSSIE." 

I  turned  it  over  and  found  on  the  other  side  written  "Do  you 
know  you  are  quite  the  first  written  to  of  everybody — all  but 
Sarry,  and  even  her  letter  isn't  posted." 

Others  who  know  and  understand  women  better  than  I  do  may 
be  able  to  detect  in  this  letter  a  consciousness  of  concealing  the 
fear  that  the  news  would  be  unwelcome  to  me.  I  can  see  no  sign 
of  any  feeling  Lossie  would  not  have  had  in  writing  to  Joey  or 
Nolly.  Only  that,  had  it  been  the  latter,  she  might  have  been 
less  affectionate.  She  and  Nolly  were  nof  such  chums  as  we  had 
been, — she  and  I ! — 

The  great  soldier  and  Lossie's  intense  unconsciousness  made  me 
feel  so  keenly  the  presumption  of  the  young  man  with  the  parched 
throat  and  the  throbbing  temples  that  I  compelled  him  to  eat 
some  breakfast  to  show  how  capable  he  was  of  going  through  with 
the  part  that  had  been  forced  upon  him.  He  showed  pluck  to  the 
extent  of  a  cup  of  coffee  and  half  a  roll — but  I  let  him  off  any 
more,  for  really  the  food  choked  him.  (I  adhere  to  this  young 
man  as  a  figure  of  speech — because  he  makes  explanation  so 
easy.)  He  was  very  anxious  that  I,  being  perfectly  cool  and  col- 
lected, should  forthwith  write  a  letter  for  him  to  Lossie,  expressing 
his  delight  at  the  news,  and  carefully  concealing  every  trace  of 
the  effect  it  had  had  upon  him.  He  was  in  such  a  hurry  for  me 
to  do  this  that  he  hardly  had  patience  to  wait  till  the  breakfast 
things  were  cleared  away.  I  got  the  letter  written  with  some  dif- 
ficulty, for  he  was  not  easy  to  satisfy,  and  after  it  was  posted 
wandered  aimlessly  about,  or  rather,  I  should  say,  consented  to 
his  doing  so.  For  I  personally  could  see  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  go  back  to  his  rooms  and  get  on  with  the  Epinicia.  By  this  I 
mean  to  express  that  I  said  to  myself  a  hundred  times  that 
nothing  had  happened  that  ought  to  alter  my  life  for  this  day, 
or  for  any  day — that  I  ought  to  be  able  to  get  on  with  my  read- 
ing— that  although  some  acknowledged  title  or  claim  to  misery 
would  have  been  a  great  alleviation,  I  had  none.  Only  the  misery 
itself! 

I  had  many  nights  of  sleep  that  dreaded  waking  from  fear  of 
the  return  of  the  spectre  that  was  always  with  me  in  the  daytime; 
of  sleeplessness  that  dreaded  sleep  as  nothing  but  the  road  to  a 
new  recognition  of  the  spectre,  happily  forgotten  for  a  moment; 


172  JOSEPH   VANCE 

many  days  that  it  was  easiest  to  spend  out  of  doors,  but  haunted 
with  a  wish  that  every  one  else  would  keep  in  doors,  and  above  all 
not  speak  to  me  when  they  met  me;  many  such  nights  and  days 
before  Youth  and  Life  reasserted  themselves  and  laid  claim  to 
their  rights  in  me.  At  their  dictation  a  compromise  was  effected, 
and  the  black  Shadow  that  oppressed  me  was  bidden  to  disperse 
and  scatter  itself  over  the  remainder  of  my  earth-life,  as  a  com- 
pensation for  relinquishing  its  prey  of  the  moment.  My  record 
was  to  become  legible  again,  but  on  grey  papyrus. 

Many  things  of  great  moment  to  myself,  and  some  of  interest 
to  others,  have  been  chronicled  on  it  since  then.  But  however 
black  may  be  the  blots  that  have  fallen  on  its  pages,  however 
strongly  they  may  start  out  from  the  ground  on  which  they  have 
fallen,  it  has  never  been  white  as  of  old,  and  I  have  never  alto- 
gether lost  the  consciousness  of  the  grey. 

I  wonder,  if  at  the  request  of  Fate  a  dramatist  took  it  in  hand, 
and  schemed  to  work  in  a  white  sheet  or  two  before  Finis,  what  he 
would  find  to  write  upon  them ! 


CHAPTER  XX 

LETTERS  OP  LOSSIE,  VERY  IMPORTANT.  GENERAL  DESPREZ.  HOW  SHE 
TOLD  ABOUT  JOE — HOW  THE  GENERAL  WANTED  TO  MARRY  LOSSIE — 
FULL  DETAILS  OF  ALL  HE  SAID,  BUT  NO  STAGE  DIRECTIONS.  HOW 
JOE'S  TRAGEDY  BURST  SUDDENLY  ON  LOSSIE,  AND  SHE  ORDERED  THE 
GENERAL  TO  THE  RESCUE. 

IT  is  fortunate  that  Lossie's  correspondence  at  this  date  was 
preserved,  for  it  gives  us  what  could  not  possibly  have  reached  us 
in  any  other  way.  The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  Sarita 
Spencer  (dated  The  Croft,  Langport,  Somerset,  Aug.  6,  1859)  is 
not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  understanding  of  the  next  one, 
but  it  contains  allusions  to  myself,  and  leads  up  to  it,  naturally 
enough. 

"...  We  are  having  a  jolly  time  down  here.  I  only  wish  you 
were  here  with  us  instead  of  in  that  stuffy  London.  The  place  is 
delicious,  and  what  with  riding  in  the  morning,  and  being  taken 
out  for  drives  in  the  afternoon,  and  getting  up  extempore  dances 
and  theatrical  performances  in  the  evening,  I  can  tell  you  the  time 
passes  at  a  great  rate.  I  shall  be  so  sorry  for  myself  when  I  come 
back  in  a  week.  Lady  Yandeleur  says  the  remedy  is  easy — not  to 
go  back.  I'm  not  sure  it  wouldn't  be  kinder  to  London  if  I  didn't, 
for  my  temper  will  be  unbearable! 

"The  Vandeleurs  are  perfectly  delightful  people,  who  seem  to 
take  clover  for  granted,  and  accept  good  fortune  as  a  birthright. 
That  is  to  say,  they  do  so  in  all  matters  of  practical  detail,  never 
hesitating  to  order  anything  on  the  score  of  expense.  But  when 
it  comes  to  general  principles,  they  pose  as  usual  people,  who  have 
just  the  same  sort  of  income  as  the  persons  they  happen  to  be  talk- 
ing with  at  the  moment.  When  one  hears  Rosalind  (that's  Lady 
Vandeleur)  talk  of  'really  rich  people  like  the  Poltergeists'  one 
pities  her  and  fears  for  her  solvency,  and  it  requires  some  little 
corrective  like  hearing  her  talk  about  'people  with  only  a  thou- 
sand a  year '  to  make  one  feel  cheerful  about  her.  I  talked  about 
this  way  folks  have  to  General  Desprez,  who  is  staying  here  (of 
course  you  know  all  about  him),  and  he  replied,  'I  know  Lord 

173 


174  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Poltergeist  intimately,  and  what  you  tell  me  Rosalind  said  comes 
very  funnily,  because  it  so  happens  that  he  said  to  me,  less  than  a 
year  ago,  that  people  who  had  really  no  responsibilities,  like  Jack 
Vandeleur  and  that  pretty  wife  of  his,  could  fling  their  money 
about  as  they  pleased,  while  as  for  him  almost  every  penny  of  his 
huge  income  was  bespoke,  and  only  just  enough  left  to  give  a 
chop  to  a  friend  who  came  to  see  him  in  the  Albany!  I  asked  if 
it  really  was  a  chop,  that  time,  for  I  conjectured  these  two  old  bach- 
elors were  hob-nobbing  at  the  said  Albany  when  his  Lordship  (whose 
name  I  haven't  got  quite  right — but  no  matter)  made  his  remark. 

"'A.  sort  of  metaphorical  chop/  said  the  General. 

"  '  Come  now,  General/  said  I,  '  don't  be  evasive !  Tell  me 
honourably,  because  you  know  you  recollect  perfectly  well  what 
the  metaphorical  chop  consisted  of.' 

" '  Grouse  and  Chateau  Lafitte.  But,  my  dear  Miss  Thorpe,  if 
you'll  take  the  word  of  a  middle-aged  soldier  who  has  knocked 
about  the  world  and  seen  a  many  sights,  all  these  things  are  rela- 
tive. The  Chinaman  who  sleeps  where  he  stands,  works  eighteen 
hours  a  day,  and  lives  on  a  spoonful  of  rice,  would  consider  the 
Italian  bracciante  rich  on  six  lire  a  week:  the  Italian  in  his  turn 
would  consider  the  British  workman,  with  six  and  eightpence  for 
his  ten  hours'  day,  a  regular  millionaire.  Of  course  Rosalind 
Vandeleur  thinks  Poltergeist  rich,  because  he  has  eighty  thousand 
a  year  and  she  has  a  miserable  twelve  or  fifteen.  I  have  heard 
her  speak  of  eight  hundred  a  year  as  poverty  in  the  presence  of 
young  couples  living  on  three-fifty.  And  what  is  funny  is  that 
they  have  considered  themselves  bound  to  sympathize ! ' 

" '  Because  they  were  such  Humbugs,'  said  I. 

" ( God  bless  me,  my  dear/  said  he,  quite  paternally,  '  you  don't 
mean  that  they  ought  to  have  taken  up  their  parables  (never  knew 
what  that  meant!)  and  preached  a  crusade  against  the  purse- 
proud.  Besides  Rosalind  would  have  broken  her  heart  if  she  had 
known — of  course  she  thought  these  nicely  dressed  three-fifty  folk 
were  a  sort  of  comfortable  customary  thousanders.  According  to 
her  Sociology,  you  know,  people  have  a  thousand  a  year  by  nature, 
less  by  accident,  and  more  by  expectations  which  fructify.' 

"'My  father/  said  I,  'has  seven  hundred  a  year  and  what  he 
makes  by  writing  scientific  articles  for  journals.  But  I'm  quite 
sure  he  spends  two  hundred  at  least  in  all  sorts  of  benefactions 
outside  his  family.  Whatever  would  have  become  of  my  brother 
Joey  Vance,  but  for  papa,  I  can't  imagine.' 

" '  What  an  unaccountable  girl  you  are ! '  for  the  General  and  1, 
let  me  tell  you,  are  on  very  free  and  easy  terms — a  sort  of  con- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  175 

i 

siderate  assurance  lie  has  does  it.  '  How  on  earth  can  you  have  a 
brother  named  Joey  Vance  when  you're  Lucilla  Thorpe  ? ' 

"'I  mean  to  have  as  many  brothers  as  I  please,  with  all  sorts 
of  names.' 

"  '  You  mean  I'm  inquisitive.     So  I  am ! ' 

"  '  Then  I'll  tell  you.  Joey  Vance  is  a  young  man  I  take  a  great 
interest  in.  He's  at  Balliol,  and  is  expected  to  set  the  Thames 
«n  fire  one  of  these  days.' 

«  <  Which  of  these  days  ? ' 

"  '  What  a  lot  of  questions  you  are  asking,  General !  Are  you 
fond  of  peacocks  ? ' 

" '  Very.     But  I  want  to  know  about  Joey  Vance.' 

" '  Let's  walk  round  the  rose  garden  before  we  go  in.  I  like 
strong  tea — it  won't  be  too  strong  for  me.' 

" '  Well — I  suppose  I  must  risk  my  nervous  system.  However, 
if  I  do,  you  must  tell  me  all  about  Joey  Vance.' 

"  You  know  I  am  always  ready  enough  to  talk  about  Joey — and 
when  in  addition  to  that  one  is  catechized  by  a  great  handsome 
Hercules  of  a  man  with  a  thoughtful  face — well,  what  else  could 
I  do? — of  course  I  told  him  all  about  Joe's  first  appearance,  and 
subsequent  career — and  how  we  expected  him  to  take  a  very  high 
degree.  He  dropped  his  half-jesting  tone  and  spoke  seriously. 

" '  How  old  was  the  boy  when  your  father  made  him  read 
Euclid?' 

"'Only  eight.     Wasn't  it  lucky  Papa  finding  him  out?' 

"  '  Indeed  it  was !    And  how  long  ago  was  that  ? ' 

" t  Well — Joe's  between  nineteen  and  twenty — so  you  can  do  the 
sum!  I  was  between  fourteen  and  fifteen  and  now  I'm  twenty- 
five,  nearly.  I've  no  objection  to  your  knowing  my  age.' 

" '  Are  you  really  as  much  as  that  ? '  said  he.  '  I  never  should 
have  thought  it.  Guess  how  old  I  am ' 

"  I  told  him  I  had  been  told  that  already — so  it  wouldn't  be  fair 
to  guess.  .  .  ." 

Sarita  Spencer  ought  to  have  torn  up  the  following  letter.  Per- 
haps she  would  have  done  so  had  she  lived.  As  it  is,  it  has  come 
into  my  hands — and  may  take  its  chance  of  being  read  by  you. 

"  THE  CROFT,  LANGPORT,  SOMERSET,  Aug.  9,  1859. 
"MY  DEAREST  SARRY:  I  am  feeling  dreadfully  embarrassed,  so 
far  as  a  girl  whose  head  is  going  round  can  be  said  to  feel  any- 
thing.   Especially  when  she  is  pretending  that  her  head  isn't  going 


m  JOSEPH  VANCE 

round.  I  hope  it's  all  right,  and  that  I'm  awake !  I  shouldn't  like 
to  wake  up  and  find  it  wasn't  true.  Even  if  I'm  asleep  I  suppose 
I  must  keep  my  promise  to  you  in  the  dream  that  I  made  to  you 
awake  years  ago,  and  that  I've  been  meaning  to  keep  ever  since, 
as  soon  as  there  was  an  opening.  For  you  see,  dear,  the  fact  is 
I've  had  an  offer  of  marriage,  and  I'm  bound  under  the  terms  of 
the  compact  to  tell  you  EXACTLY  what  the  gentleman  said  and 
did — No !  stop  a  minute !  It  was  no  such  thing — I  only  promised 
to  tell  what  he  said — and  I'll  throw  you  in  what  /  said.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  much  easier  that  makes  it — I  can  fulfil  that  promise 
honestly. 

"First  of  all,  I'll  tell  you  his  name.  It's  not  in  the  contract, 
but  I'll  be  liberal  and  throw  it  in  too.  He's  General  Desprez,  and 
he's  the  General  Desprez.  He's  a  first  cousin  of  Rosalind  Van- 
deleur.  All  these  people  are  each  other's  cousins,  or  connections 
by  marriage.  If  I  marry  him  I  shall  be  well  connected  and  all  my 
friends  will  cut  me.  I  shall  be,  according  to  Professor  Absalom, 
a  silver-spoon  person,  and  quite  unfit  for  human  company. 

"I'll  make  a  small  further  concession  and  tell  you  where  the 
affair  came  off — that's  not  in  the  contract  either !  It  was  in  a  little 
square-walled  garden  called  the  Rose  Garden,  and  there  are  peaches 
and  nectarines  on  the  very  high  walls,  and  he  and  I  were  walking 
round  and  keeping  off  the  grass  because  of  the  dew — at  least  I  was. 
There  was  no  one  else  there  except  a  peacock.  Now  do  admit  that 
I'm  liberal!  I  wasn't  the  least  bound  to  tell  you  about  the  pea- 
cock! Here  is  the  whole  of  the  conversation,  from  the  moment 
we  met — 

" t  You're  early  this  morning,  General ! ' 

" t  Am  I  ?    I  suppose  it's  seven  o'clock,' 

'"It  isn't  even  that,  if  the  negro  hasn't  turned  round  in  the 
night  when  no  one  was  looking,  like  the  two  S's  in  Skinner  Street. 
By-the-bye,  General,  why  is  it  that  one  associates  negroes  with 
sundials  ? ' 

" '  I  don't  think  I  know  any  but  this  one.  He's  made  of  lead. 
But  tell  me  about  the  two  S's  in  Skinner  Street.' 

" '  It's  some  nonsense  of  Papa's.  Somebody  asked  him  what  his 
Doctor's  degree  was,  and  why  he  was  called  Doctor.  He  said  he 
didn't  know,  because  he  had  two  degrees — one  a  German,  the  other 
Oxford.  He  said  for  anything  he  could  do  to  regulate  it,  it  might 
be  they  changed  across  every  other  day,  like  the  two  initials  in 
Skinner  Street — which  a  policeman  whose  mind  was  affected  com- 
plained at  headquarters  about.' 


JOSEPH   VANCE  177 

**'!  suppose  it's  the  word  German  put  it  into  my  head.  Why 
didn't  your  sister  marry  the  young  German  ? ' 

"'Poor  Hermann!  It's  a  pity  she  didn't — I  liked  him  much 
better  than — the  man  she's  engaged  to  now.'' 

" ( Whose  name  you  told  me  and  I've  forgotten  it.' 

" '  Sir  Kichard  Towerstairs.  She  has  been  engaged  four  or  five 
times,  but  I  really  believe  she'll  marry  this  one.' 

"  l  Does  she  love  him  ? ' 

" '  Oh  dear,  yes !  But  she  loved  all  the  others,  one  down  t'other 
come  on ! ' 

" '  You  frivolous  young  woman !  Can't  you  be  serious  on  a 
serious  subject  ?  On  the  serious  subject  ? ' 

" '  Yes.     But  not  about  Vi's  engagements.' 

" '  It  was  serious  enough  with  poor  Hermann.  Wasn't  he  very 
miserable  when  your  unfeeling  sister — jilted  him  ? ' 

" '  You  were  going  to  say  chucked  him,  and  of  course  it  would 
have  been  vulgar.  But  there's  nobody  here  but  the  peacock.  Oh 
no!  Hermann  wasn't  hurt.  I  was  taken  in  at  first  and  tried  to 
console  him,  but ' 

"'But  what?' 

"'Well,  he  took  so  very  kindly  to  being  consoled  that  I  was 
obliged  to '• 

"'I  understand.  Poor  Hermann!  And  then  I  suppose  when 
there  was  no  third  sister  to  apply  for  he  went  to  look  for  some- 
body else/ 

" '  I  gave  him  an  introduction  to  a  girl  named  Atkins.  Aren't 
people  queer?  However,  it  was  good  for  me,  because  Hermann 
had  given  me  some  most  lovely  embroidered  pocket-handkerchiefs, 
and  instead  of  giving  them  back  I  kept  them  as  a  commission  on 
Sylvia  Atkins.  I  told  him  I  should.' 

"'Perfectly  fair!  But  I  want  to  know  why  you  think  your 
sister  will  marry  this  one.' 

" '  I  hardly  like  to  tell  you,  but  it's  difficult  not  to  tell  when  you 
look  so  earnest  about  it.  Because  he's  a  Baronet.' 

'"Is  it  possible  that  that  should  be  really  so?' 

" '  Yes.  And  I  can  tell  you  why.  Vi  is  absolutely  incapable 
of  caring  more  about  any  one  person  (man  or  woman)  than  another. 
It  isn't  that  she  cannot  feel  affection,  but  that  it  doesn't  much 
matter  to  her  who  she  feels  it  for.  The  mere  raw  human  creature 
supplies  no  distinctive  attraction.  It  needs  some  external  attribute 
which  is  not  itself. — If  she  had  been  Hero  she  would  not  have 
welcomed  Leander.  He  was  altogether  too  crude  and  uncooked. 


178  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Now  if  he  had  come  with  a  coronet,  or  a  cheque-book,  or  a  mitre, 
or  a  pedigree,  it  would  have  been  another  thing.' 

" '  But  the  German  Leander  swam  ashore  with  a  cheque- 
book.' 

" '  He  did — but  then  the  moment  they  quarrelled  there  was  no 
tie  left  but  the  cheque-book,  and  Vi  could  distinguish  that  merce- 
nary motives  were  low.  It  froisse'd  her  self-respect.  But  with  this 
man,  if  she  quarrels  with  him  about  any  of  the  things  he  knows 
enough  about  to  feed  a  quarrel  on — horseflesh,  cigars,  cards,  wine — 
there  will  always  be  the  great  and  glorious  sheet-anchor  of  his 
ancient  lineage  to  keep  her  steady.  She  will  never  despise  herself 
for  reverence  of  ancestry.' 

"'This  Leander  swims  ashore  with  a  pedigree.  But  do  you 
think  you  will  like  your  brother-in-law  ? ' 

" ' 1  don't  think  about  it.  I  am  perfectly  certain  I  shan't. 
Really  when  his  formal  welcome  into  the  family  was  going  on,  and 
he  considered  it  his  duty  to  call  me  Lucilla  and  inflict  a ' 

"'Kiss?' 

" '  Family  peck  upon  me  I  felt  I  could  have  sunk  into  the  earth. 
I  should  like  to  go  and  live  abroad  to  be  out  of  his  way,  only  I 
should  have  to  leave  Papa  and  my  two  Joes.' 

" '  I  wish  I  could  persuade  you  to  go  to  India.' 

" '  Are  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me  ?  Besides,  what 
should  I  do  out  there — go  as  a  nurse  ? ' 

" '  No.  My  idea  was  that  you  should  go  out  as  a  General  Offi- 
cer's wife.  I  know  of  a  Vacancy.' 

"'How  do  you  know  the  General  Officer  would  like  it?  Why 
do  you  look  so  ? — is  anything  the  matter  ? ' 

" '  Yes — plenty's  the  matter !  Now  do  let's  walk  quietly  round 
the  garden,  like  this,  and  I'll  explain.  You  see,  I  suspect  you  of 
being  absolutely  the  dearest  woman  in  the  whole  world,  and  I 
know  I  myself  never  saw  another  like  you.  Now  you  under- 
stand! No — don't  run  away.  You  see  /  am  the  General  Officer 
and  I  want  you  to  marry  me  and  come  to  India.' 

" '  Oh,  how  stupid  I  was !  I  always  thought  it  was  a  General 
Officer,  like  a  general  servant.  I  never  realized  that  you  were  a 
General  Officer.  I  thought  of  you  only  as  a  General  or  Major- 
General.  Indeed  I  did!  And  do  you  really  expect  me  to  say  yes 
or  no  to  a  question  like  that  offhand,  before  breakfast  ? ' 

" '  If  it's  more  likely  to  be  yes  by  waiting  till  after  breakfast, 
let's  have  breakfast  first.' 

" '  Are  you  sure  you  really  care  which  I  say — yes  or  no  ?  Oh,  do 
take  care,  I'm  sure  there's  somebody  coming ! ' 


JOSEPH   VANCE  179 

"'It's  only  the  gardener — he's  going  the  other  way.  It's  all 
right.' 

" '  No,  indeed,  he's  coming  this  way — do  let's  be  a  lady  and 
gentleman  taking  an  early  walk  before  breakfast.' 

"  Now,  Sarry  darling,  I've  kept  my  promise,  and  more.  For  I've 
not  only  told  you  what  he  said,  but  what  I  said,  and  how  the  whole 
thing  worked.  You  can  write  in  the  stage  directions  to  the  above 
little  drama  much  as  you  please.  The  action  of  the  Dramatis 
Persons  is  nearly  always  the  same. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  when  I  accepted  this  soldier  of  mine,  nor 
precisely  whether  I  ever  did  accept  him  at  all.  We  fell  into  rank 
somehow  as  two  people  entitled  to  paeans  of  congratulation;  all  the 
women  (married  and  single)  saying  they  wanted  him  for  them- 
selves, but  if  any  one  else  is  to  have  him  they  are  so  glad  it's  me ! 
Rosalind  Vandeleur  says  she  really  believes  all  the  girls  did  want 
him,  only  that  he  was  always  so  reserved  and  cautious  that  he  won't 
leave  a  single  broken  heart  behind  him.  I  said  I  shouldn't  have 
thought  him  so  particularly  reserved  and  cautious — and  she  said 
well  perhaps  not — it  all  depended  on  circumstances. 

"  He  says,  however,  we  are  not  engaged — oh  dear,  no ! — till  Papa, 
etc.  Of  course  not,  but  as  if  I  didn't  know  Papa!  However,  we 
are  going  up  on  Saturday  to  present  ourselves  at  headquarters. 
I  hope  you  see  how  military  my  language  is  becoming.  .  .  . 

"  My  dear,  I  should  like  to  tell  you  how  happy  I  am — but  I  can't 
find  the  words.  Oh,  the  delight  of  waking  in  the  morning  and 
knowing  half  awake  that  as  soon  as  one  can  recollect  what  it  is 
there  will  be  something  indescribably  glorious.  .  .  ." 

"  Aug.  16,  POPLAR  VILLA. 

"  I  will  go  on  with  my  story  where  I  left  off. 

"  Hugh  and  I  came  up  on  the  Saturday,  as  I  said  we  should, 
after  four  more  most  delightful  days  at  Crofts,  which  I  shall  never 
forget  as  long  as  I  live.  I  can't  tell  you  how  sweet  Rosalind  and 
her  husband  and  all  of  them  were.  It  was  a  sky  without  a  cloud, 
and  Hugh  was  the  sun  in  it.  That's  a  very  bad  simile,  but  I 
always  get  in  a  mess  when  I  try  to  be  poetical!  But  it's  right 
enough  on  one  point — as  to  the  chill  one  feels  when  a  cloud  takes 
the  edge  off  one's  enjoyment  of  it.  You  know  what  it's  like,  and 

how  one  says  it  isn't  going  to  rain,  or  only  a  few  drops !  Well, 

we  came  back  from  Crofts — and  all  went  well — more  than  well! 
Papa  was,  I  need  hardly  say,  a  darling — came  out  to  the  door  to 
meet  us;  and  never  taking  the  slightest  notice  of  poor  me,  all  but 


180  JOSEPH  VANCE 

embraced  the  General  in  the  heartiness  of  his  welcome.  It  can't 
have  been  difficult,  for  it's  simply  impossible  to  see  Hugh  and  not 
love  him.  Rosalind  says  so — everybody  says  so.  By-the-bye — I 
don't  think  I  have  ever  mentioned  that  he's  the  youngest  General 
in  Her  Majesty's  service.  Of  course  it  doesn't  matter,  but  one  has 
an  idea  (or  I  had)  that  Generals  are  all  elderly. 

"  '  Now  where's  my  undutif  ul  daughter  ? '  said  Papa.  '  Come 
and  be  blown  up !  What  do  you  mean  by  looking  so  blooming,  eh? 
I  wonder  who  you'll  get  engaged  to  be  married  to  next  without  my 
consent  ? ' 

"  Poor  Papa !  Evidently  the  iron  of  his  paternal  experiences  of 
Violet  had  entered  into  his  soul,  and  he  thought  he  was  going  to  go 
through  it  all  again.  It  would  have  been  mere  hypocrisy  not  to 
recognize  the  bearing  of  the  remark. 

" t  Violet  began  at  sixteen,'  said  I.  '  Never  mind  the  snuff — 
it's  only  my  travelling  things.  Besides,  I'm  not  engaged  without 
your  consent;  I'm  not  engaged  at  all,  yet ' 

"  '  No,'  said  Hugh,  indiscreetly, '  we're  not  engaged  at  all  yet ' 

"'Oh,'  said  I,  interrupting  him,  'you're  not  engaged,  aren't 
you  ?  Very  well — go  away — I  don't  want  you.  However,  you  may 
have  some  tea  before  you  go,  and  soon  as  you've  done  over-paying 
the  cab  we'll  go  in  and  get  it.  Where's  Beppino  ? ' 

" '  Who's  he  ? '  said  the  General,  and  I  explained  that  it  was  an 
extra  name  for  my  blood-relation  Joey — made  necessary  by  mis- 
understandings. 'Then,'  said  he,  'who's  Beppe?' 

"'Why,  of  course,  dear  Goose,'  said  I,  'that's  an  extra  nam* 
for  Joe  Vance!  Joe  for  one  and  Beppino  for  the  other  works 
best.  Come  along.' 

"  So  we  all  came  along  into  the  drawing-room,  after  I  had  re- 
ceived the  benediction  of  Sam  and  Anne,  and  for  that  matter  of 
the  cabman,  whom  I  heard  from  afar  sharing  his  views  with  an 
acquaintance  named  Nosey,  who  had  helped  to  bring  in  the  lug- 
gage. These  were  to  the  effect  that  it  was  in  the  interest  of  drivers 
that  fares  should  be  nuts,  the  condition  so  described  tending  to 
produce  liberality  in  an  otherwise  stingy  public.  I  didn't  hear 
the  exact  words,  but  am  sure  of  the  substance. 

"  '  But  where  is  Beppino  ? '  said  I,  as  I  grabbed  my  unf orwarded 
letters. 

"'Joey  was  here  a  minute  ago,'  said  Papa. 

"'Master  Joey  was  here  when  the  cab  rang,'  said  Anne.  'I'll 
run  and  find  him,  Miss,'  and  off  went  Anne.  Some  inner  suscepti- 
bility of  mine  whispered  that  it  would  have  been  better  pleased  if 
Beppino  had  received  us  with  acclamations  at  the  gate,  and  went 


JOSEPH   VANCE  181 

the  length  of  adding,  ( As  Joe  Vance  would  have  done.'  It  was 
the  first  little  chill  I  had  had — however,  I  was  perhaps  unreason- 
able. As  for  Vi,  I  can't  swear  that  I  didn't  feel  a  tiny  scrap  of 
relief  on  hearing  that  she  was  going  to  be  in  to  tea,  as  I  had  had  a 
misgiving  that,  if  already  in  to  tea,  she  would  conspire  with  Aunt 
Izzy  to  give  us  a  ceremonial  reception. 

"However,  to  condense  my  narrative,  Joey  was  captured  by 
Anne  and  made  some  effort  at  apology  based  on  the  great  interest 
of  the  work  he  was  reading.  He  was  rather  sheepish  with  Hugh, 
I  thought,  or  perhaps  was  a  little  frightened  of  him.  Vi  came  in 
as  promised  and  accepted  the  peck  (or  rather  pecks)  of  the  new 
member  of  the  family,  with  a  very  much  better  grace  than  I  had 
received  her  young  man's  with.  But  then  just  look  at  the  differ- 
ence! As  Vi  herself  said  to  me  in  my  room  that  night,  when  we 
had  a  good  talk  over  it,  kissing  Sir  Dick  is  like  kissing  a  tobacco 
shop  in  Piccadilly.  As  for  Hugh,  his  appreciation  of  this  part  of 
the  performance  was  candid,  to  say  the  least.  I  was  obliged  to 
tell  him  that  comparisons  were  odious. 

"Poor  Aunt  Izzy  was  all  kindness,  or  intended  to  be  so.  The 
moral  of  the  interview  with  her  I  should  say  was  that  you  had 
better  not  talk  Debrett  to  any  one  who  can't  hear  a  word  you  say. 
I  had  warned  Hugh  that  he  would  have  to  form  square  to  receive 
the  Peerage,  so  he  knew  what  was  coming.  '  But  why  not  let  the 
dear  old  lady  talk  about  it  ? '  said  he.  '  You've  no  idea  what  pleas- 
ure it  gives  them ! '  I  saw  he  had  a  false  image  of  Aunt  Izzy 
in  his  mind,  and  tried  to  correct  it  without  injustice  to  Aunty. 
'You  know,'  I  said,  'poor  Aunty  isn't  exactly  what  one  describes 
as  a  dear  old  lady.  She's  very  good,  you  know — as  good  as  can 
be!  But  all  the  same  she's  an  Honorary  Secretary,  and  has  the 
welfare  of  her  sex  at  heart — and  indeed  of  everybody  else's  sex 
too.  But  then,  that  is  her  Advanced  Self  which  has  Platforms 
and  denounces  all  sorts  of  things,  and  behind  it  all  is  a  Superior 
Self  enshrined  in  its  own  extraction  from  the  Thorpes  of  Thorpe, 
and  cherishing  memories  of  people  almost  too  well-connected  to 
live.  She  doesn't  talk  much  to  her  nieces  about  them.  Indeed, 
I  think  she  regards  us  as  Renegades,  who  from  sheer  innate  Vul- 
garity of  Soul  selected  a  Member  of  the  Middle  Classes  for  a 
Mother.  Mamma  was  a  School-Mistress,  you  know,  and  Papa  fell 
in  love  with  her — she  was  very  beautiful — you'll  see  her  portrait—- 
at some  lectures  he  gave  on  Education — fell  over  his  Lecture  table 
he  always  said.' 

"You  see,  Sarry  dear,  I  did  my  best  to  introduce  the  family, 
and  prevent  Hugh  being  taken  aback.  So  I  hope  he  wasn't  much 


182  JOSEPH   VANCE 

disgusted  at  having  to  shout  into  an  ear-trumpet  that  he  knew 
nothing  personally  about  William  the  Conqueror,  having  only 
come  to  England  since  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes, 
and  that  even  his  poor  cousin  Lord  Fitzbroughton  was  only  a 
direct  descendant  of  a  wool-broker  in  James  the  First's  time  who 
was  created  because  he  lent  His  Majesty  money. 

"'Do  put  yourself  a  little  further  back,  Hugh  dear/  said  I. 
'  Just  look  at  poor  Aunty  how  shocked  she  is ! ' 

"  However,  the  reason  why  Aunty  looked  shocked  came  out  later 
when  it  became  manifest  that  she  had  scarcely  heard  any  of  Hugh's 
communications.  For  after  passing  the  evening  with  an  evident 
weight  on  her  mind,  she  unburdened  herself  to  me  as  we  were  light- 
ing bedroom  candles,  being  I  suppose  afraid  she  might  be  sleepless 
without  explanations. 

" '  But,  Aunty  dear/  said  I,  after  mastering  the  point  involved, 
'  Hugh  never  said  he  was  any  relation  of  Edith  Sant's.' 

" '  Well,  my  dear,  I  certainly  thought  he  said  so,  and  I  think  if 
you  ask  him  you'll  find  I'm  right.' 

" l  Hugh/  said  I,  shouting  across  the  room,  ( what  relation  are 
you  of  Edith  Sant's?' 

" '  Is  it  a  conundrum  ? '  said  he.  '  I  don't  know,  I  give  it  up/ 
And,  indeed,  we  all  gave  it  up,  until  by  good  luck  we  got  a  clue 
from  the  word  conundrum,  which  Aunty's  ear  perverted  terribly. 

"We  were  all  talking  about  the  Conqueror,  dear,  all  the  time. 
And  I  couldn't  imagine  why  Edith  Sant!  Because  she  certainly 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  Conqueror. 

"  Perhaps,  Sarry  dear,  as  you've  got  it  all  wrote  out  quite  plain 
on  the  last  page,  you'll  see  what  it  all  came  from.  But  I  assure 
you  that  even  with  the  Conqueror  clue  we  were  a  long  time  getting 
to  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  Aunty  was  greatly 
relieved,  because  Edith  Sant,  though  very  nice  of  course,  is  not 
exactly!  l  As  your  sister  Violet  says,  dear/  said  Aunty,  *  Edith 
Sant  is  not  exactly.'  So  I  had  the  authority  of  both  for  this 
curious  fact. 

"  Nolly  came  in  five  minutes  before  dinner  in  a  dust-coat  over 
cricketing  flannels,  having  scored  seventy-two  and  not  out.  The 
frame  of  mind  generated  by  an  incident  of  this  sort  is  not  favour- 
able to  introduction  of  future  brothers-in-law.  In  the  present 
case  Nolly's  inattention  to  the  question  before  the  House,  which 
was  absolute,  became  warm  appreciation  of  its  merits  the  moment 
it  transpired,  to  my  surprise,  that  the  General  was  an  historical 
amateur  Wicket-Keeper.  The  distinguished  services  of  Colonel 
Desprez  during  the  Indian  Mutiny,  and  before  that  in  the  Crimea, 


JOSEPH   VANCE      ,  183 

did  him  no  doubt  great  credit,  but  what  are  mere  human  dis- 
tinctions of  this  sort!  Let  him  who  aspires  to  true  Fame  keep 
wickets.  I  was  glad  of  Nolly's  fervent  appreciation  of  Hugh,  al- 
though no  sooner  was  the  wicket-keeping  revelation  made  than  all 
conversation  threatened  to  merge  in  dry  wickets  and  wet  wickets 
and  soft  wickets  and  hard  wickets  and  flat  wickets  and  even 
wickets.  I  was  obliged  to  threaten  to  break  it  off  in  order  to  give 
any  one  else  a  chance.  Nolly  was  promised  another  innings,  and 
I  believe  had  it  later,  after  we  women  had  carried  off  the  bedroom 
candles  and  I  was  recapitulating  with  Violet  in  peace.  She,  I  may 
mention,  had  vanished,  by  the  time  Nolly  returned,  to  go  to  the 
Opera  with  her  Baronet's  married  sister,  and  he  was  delivering 
her,  like  coals,  out  of  a  two-horse  carriage  and  oppressive  footmen 
just  as  I  was  thinking  of  getting  to  sleep.  I  called  her  into  my 
room,  and  she  came  in  and  sat  on  the  end  of  the  bed  in  her  things. 
Vi  really  does  look  lovely  en  grande  tenue,  twenty-seven  or  nol 

" '  I  didn't  know,  Lossie  dear,  that  your  new  soldier-man  knew 
Sir  Eichard.' 

"'Well,  now,  Vi!  That's  a  shame.  You  know  perfectly  well 
he's  the  only  man  I  ever  set  up  for  myself,  and  you  call  him  my 
new  soldier-man.' 

" '  Oh ! '  said  Vi.     '  But  did  you  know  he  knew  Sir  Eichard  ?' 

" '  Then  those  men  are  smoking  downstairs  still ! '  said  I.  And, 
Sarry  dear,  if  you  find  this  conversation  inconsecutive,  I  can't 
help  it — I  am  only  recording  the  words  as  they  came.  You  see, 
Vi  and  I  have  conversed  on  these  lines  since  childhood,  and  after 
all  we  are  sisters. 

" '  Well,  Lossie  dear,  if  he  doesn't  know  Sir  Eichard  what  does 
he  mean  by  saying  to  him,  "  So  you're  come  to  an  anchor  at  last, 
Dick!"?' 

" '  I  don't  remember  his  ever  saying  he  didn't  know  him,'  said  I. 
'  And  they  all  know  each  other,  all  this  sort  of  people,  and  Chris- 
tian-name each  other — I  suppose  they  were  at  Eton  together.  What 
did  you  mean  by  "  Oh  "  ? ' 

"'Mean?  Nothing.  What  should  I  mean?'  And  as  I  really 
could  not  think  of  anything  she  could  have  meant  unless  it  was 
an  allusion  to  Hermann  when  he  came  to  me  for  consolation  and 
found  it  not  and  was  referred  on  to  Sylvia  Atkins,  I  don't  know. 
So  I  let  it  drop  as  we  had  plenty  to  talk  about. 

" '  Are  you  girls  going  to  stop  chattering  and  go  to  bed  ? '  called 
out  Papa  an  hour  after  from  the  library,  where  he  writes  ever  so 
late.  And  then  as  Vi  opened  the  door  and  floated  away,  I  caught 
the  sounds  of  a  Baronet  and  a  General  and  a  Cricketer  dispersing, 


184  JOSEPH   VANCE 

and  taking  care  to  make  no  noise,  on  the  floor  below.  You  know 
what  that  sounds  like?  Then  oblivion.  And  then  I  got  up  and 
wrote  to  Joe  Vance  at  Balliol." 

Prom  same  to  same — dated  Poplar  Villa,  Aug.  22,  1859. 

"  DEAREST  SARRY  :  I  am  quite  heart-broken !  Oh,  why  is  it  that 
there  never  can  be  any  happiness  at  all  for  any  one,  without  some- 
thing to  spoil  it  all?  Why  must  there  always  be  some  gall  at  the 
bottom  of  the  cup?  I  would  have  given  worlds  this  should  not 
have  happened — I  almost  think  that  if  I  had  foreseen  it  I  should 
have  run  away  from  Hugh  (that's  the  General)  that  day  in  the 
Kose  Garden  at  Crofts  and  never  gone  near  him  again.  I  should 
like  to  be  as  miserable  as  I  am  afraid  I  have  made  some  one  else — 
but  I've  told  you  nothing !  I  must  try  to  get  in  order.  I'll  begin 
at  the  beginning. 

"  I  had  such  a  nice  cheerful  letter  from  Joe  in  answer  to  mine 
telling  him  about  the  General,  saying  what  fun  it  was,  and  fancy 
me  engaged  to  be  married !  The  letter  was  full  of  all  sorts  of  jokes, 
picturing  me  in  my  new  character  of  married  woman.  He  rallied 
the  General  on  his  courage,  wondered  whether  he  had  any  idea  what 
a  firm  disciplinarian  I  was,  how  many  cigars  a  day  I  should  allow 
him,  and  would  he  be  taken  to  church  three  times  on  Sunday,  and 
so  on.  You  never  could  have  imagined  to  read  such  a  letter  that — 
well,  now!  I  don't  know  how  to  finish  the  sentence — I  must  just 
go  on  with  my  story  and  you  must  guess 

"  I  was  beginning  at  breakfast  to  moot  the  point  of  when  Joe 
Vance  would  come  to  London,  and  Nolly  was  disparaging  hard 
reading,  and  pointing  out  its  bad  effect  on  mind  and  muscle,  when 
Papa  suddenly  remembered  that  there  was  a  skull  at  some  place  in 
Oxford  he  would  like  to  see,  in  connection  with  gorillas'  occiputs, 
and  said  if  Hugh  would  undertake  to  keep  me  out  of  mischief  he 
would  run  down  and  see  the  skull  and  Joe,  and  bring  back  word 
when  he  thought  of  coming  to  town.  I  told  him  Joe  would  come  at 
once  if  I  wrote  for  him,  but  there  were  such  a  lot  of  things  to  do 
I  had  left  him  to  stand  over  for  a  week  as  I  wanted  to  really  see 
him  when  he  did  come.  However,  Papa  seemed  to  prefer  to  go, 
and  went  away  by  the  late  train  from  Paddington. 

"  The  first  glimmer  I  had  of  anything  amiss  was  due  to  what 
was  in  itself  a  most  reasonable  action  on  Papa's  part.  Nothing 
could  be  plainer  and  simpler  than  that  he  should  run  down  to  Ox- 
ford to  see  this  skull,  as  he  was  actually  writing  on  the  subject  at 
the  time.  But  he  laid  so  much  stress  on  the  advisability  of  seeing 


JOSEPH  VANCE  185 

it,  when  that  advisability  really  went  without  saying,  that  his  going 
set  up  a  minute  current  of  uneasiness  in  a  corner  of  my  mind, 
which,  however,  resolutely  refused  to  acknowledge  its  existence. 
Nevertheless,  it  felt  greatly  relieved  when  Joe's  letter  reached  me 
on  the  second  day  after  my  Father's  return,  although  it  had  not  the 
candour  to  admit  the  greatness  of  the  relief.  The  letter  had  one 
defect,  however,  in  my  eyes — it  did  not  say  when  Joe  was  coming 
to  London.  Perhaps  this  was  only  an  accident.  Joe  was  so  sure 
to  come  soon  that  no  doubt  he  thought  unnecessary  to  fix  any 
date.  I  thought  it  safe  to  forget  about  it  and  take  his  coming  for 
granted. 

"  So  when  Hugh  said  to  me,  '  That's  a  queer  boy,  Beppino ! 
But  when  am  I  to  see  your  other  little  brother  ? '  I  was  rather 
glad  to  reply  only  to  the  first  part  of  his  speech,  and  neglect  the 
last  question. 

" '  Of  course  Beppino  is  a  singular  child.  Papa  and  I  think  it 
better  to  leave  him  alone.  He  doesn't  understand  above  half  of 
what  he  reads.'  I  said  this  because  I  knew  Hugh  had  caught  him 
reading  some  curious  literature. 

" '  How  do  you  know  that  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  he's  not  exactly 
a  child,  even  in  years.  And  he  strikes  me  as  being  at  least  five 
years  older  in  faculties.  But  when  am  I  to  see  Joe  Vance? ' 

u  This  time  I  was  glad  to  answer  the  question,  as  it  allowed  me 
to  pass  over  a  consideration  of  another  question  which  had  often 
been  a  subject  of  serious  and  anxious  discussion  with  Papa. 

u  *  I  thought  he  would  have  been  here  by  now.  As  he  hasn't  come, 
most  likely  next  Saturday.' 

u '  Did  he  say  anything  in  his  letter  ? ' 

"'Well— you  saw  his  letter.' 

" '  Only  Dr.  Thorpe  didn't  speak  as  though  he  expected  him  to 
come  up  just  yet.' 

u '  As  though  he  expected  him  to  come  up  just  yet  ? '  I  repeated 
the  words  with  something  of  a  sudden  alarm.  'Why  not?  Is 
anything  wrong?' 

"' Nothing  whatever  so  far  as  I  know.    Joe's  all  right.' 

u '  Oh  dear,  yes,  Joe's  all  right — why  shouldn't  he  be  ? '  struck 
in  Papa,  coming  in  at  this  moment.  '  Who  said  anything  was  the 
matter  with  Joe?' 

u  ( Nobody  said  anything  was  the  matter  with  Joe,'  said  I.  'But 
you  and  Hugh  speak  in  such  a  reassuring  manner  you  gave  me 
quite  a  turn.'  And  you  know,  Sarry  dear,  it  is  very  terrifying 
to  be  suddenly  spoken  to  in  a  reassuring  manner.  'Do  say  now, 
honour  bright,  that  when  you  left  him  at  Oxford  Joe 


186  JOSEPH  VANCE 

" '  Perfectly  well  ?  Of  course  he  was  really — honour  bright ! 
And  he'll  come  up  very  shortly.  No!  he  didn't  name  any  day — 
but  most  likely  Saturday  or  very  shortly ' 

"  Saturday  came  and  has  gone — and  so,  I  think,  has  very  shortly. 
Joe  did  not  come  up,  or  he  would  have  been  here  on  Sunday  to  a 
certainty.  I  was  at  the  window  every  time  I  heard  the  gate  swing 
to  see  if  it  wasn't  Joe.  But  it  never  was.  And  on  Monday  after- 
noon came  a  letter  from  him.  Here  it  is — 

"  *  MY  DEAR  LOSSIE  :  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  get  up  to  London  for 
a  few  days  yet.  I  will  do  so  as  soon  as  I  can,  but  I  am  so  desperately 
behindhand  with  the  programme  I  had  sketched  out  for  myself 
this  long  that  I  would  rather  (if  I  may)  wait  a  few  days  before 
coming  up.  I  wanted  to  have  got  through  the  Epinicia  of  Pindar 
before  now,  and  really  I  am  scarcely  half-way.  I  am  extremely 
well,  and  not  overworking  at  all,  and  getting  lots  of  sculling  on 
the  river.  I  will  really  come  very  soon.  It  doesn't  matter,  does 
it,  my  putting  off  a  little?  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  apologize  to 
General  Desprez  for  not  coming  at  once  to  be  introduced  to  him, 
but  you  will  know  how  to  excuse  me  and  say  something  nice  for 
me,  won't  you  ? 

"  *  Always  affectionately  yours, 

«<JOE.> 

"  Very  little  in  that  letter,  you  will  say.  But  if  you  will  believe 
me,  when  I  came  to  '  I  will  really  come  very  soon,'  I  knew  the  whole 
truth  without  another  word. 

"  Hugh  was  with  me  when  I  got  it,  but  did  not  know  who  it 
was  from,  as  I  crumpled  the  envelope.  But  I  just  heard  him  say, 
*Oh,  my  darling,  what  is  it?  You've  gone  quite  white,'  and 
everything  swam.  Then  when  I  came  to,  I  just  threw  myself  on 
his  acre  or  so  of  chest,  and  cried  as  if  my  heart  would  break. 

"  After  I  went  to  bed  I  listened  for  Vi  to  come  home  from  see- 
ing Robson  at  the  Haymarket  and  called  to  her.  I  threw  her 
the  letter  which  I  had  under  the  pillow,  and  said,  '  Was  that  what 
you  meant  by  "  Oh,"  Vi  ? '  And  she  read  it  and  answered,  '  Yes, 
dear,  that  was  what  I  meant  by  "Oh."  And  what  a  simpleton 
you  have  been ! '  But  she  wasn't  bad — she's  not  bad  in  trouble, 
Vi  isn't — and  she  came  and  said  what  she  could  by  way  of  con- 
solation." 


From  same  to  same.    Extract  from  letter  of  Aug.  30,  1850. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  187 

".  .  .  After  turning  it  well  over  in  my  head  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  would  be  better  to  send  Hugh  than  to  go  my- 
self. The  critical  difficulty  ahead  was  really  getting  him  and  Joe 
into  comfortable  relations,  without  which  (I  felt  it  necessary  to 
explain)  I  should  not  only  '  jilt '  or  '  chuck '  him,  but  should  take 
Prussic  Acid.  He  looked  really  terrified  when  he  was  told  that 
I  expected  him  to  man  the  Life-boat  and  row  out  to  the  wreck. 
'And  then/  I  added,  'when  you  get  there  you'll  have  to  drive  a 
coach  and  six  through  the  citadel,  and  take  it  by  a  coup-de-main* 

" ( It's  the  worst  affair  I've  been  in  yet/  said  he. 

"'What  a  silly  old  sweetheart  I  have  provided  myself  with/ 
said  I.  '  Can't  you  see  that  what  you've  got  to  do  is  to  walk  into 
Joe's  room  and  just  tell  him  from  me  that  you've  come  to  fetch 
him.' 

" '  But  it's  such  ticklish  work/  he  replied.  '  Suppose  the  forlorn 
hope  comes  to  grief,  and  I  spill  the  apple-cart,  how  shall  I  dare  to 
bring  the  coach  and  six  back  to  port  again?'  However,  I  per- 
suaded him  to  try,  and  he's  gone  down  to  Oxford  to-day.  He 
insisted  on  having  a  letter  to  carry  to  Joe,  so  I  wrote  one  for  him. 
And  now  that  I  have  shuffled  off  all  the  burden  of  embarrassment 
on  to  Hugh's  shoulders,  I  am  waiting  with  trepidation  for  the  re- 
sult. Whatever  I  shall  do  when  they  drive  up  to  the  door  (as  I  am 
convinced  they  will  do — for  I  don't  believe  in  any  one  refusing 
Hugh  anything),  I  don't  know.  If  I'm  too  stiff  and  ladylike  with 
Joe,  the  situation  will  freeze  and  we  shall  get  stuck,  and  that  won't 
do.  And  if  I'm  too  sisterly  that  won't  do  either.  It  certainly  is 
ticklish  work.  Stop !  I  know  what  I'll  do — I'll  go  to  the  station 
and  meet  them  as  they  come  out  of  the  carriage. 

"Do  you  know,  Sarry  darling,  I'm  convinced  I  shall  be  of  the 
greatest  service  to  the  General  in  his  future  campaigns.  I'm  sure 
I'm  a  born  strategist !  " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HOW  JOE  AND  HIS  SELF  LIVED  IN  GLOOM  AT  OXFORD  AND  WOULD  NOT 
GO  TO  LONDON.  HOW  GENERAL  DESPREZ  CAME  FOR  THEM,  AND  JOE 
KEPT  HIS  SELF  IN  CHECK.  HOW  LOSSIE  MET  THEM  ALL  AT  PAD- 
DINGTON. 

I  GET  accustomed  to  looking  these  letters  in  the  face.  A  few 
weeks  since  when  I  began  to  read  them  (for  I  have  held  to  a  rule 
of  taking  the  letters  as  the  dates  called  for  them)  I  should  have 
flinched  a  great  deal  over  some  parts  of  the  foregoing. 

I  see  now,  all  this  length  of  time  after,  what  a  stupid  letter 
my  second  one  was.  I  suppose  when  the  tension  was  new  and  I 
had  all  my  natural  reserve  of  strength  at  my  back  I  was  able  to 
make  believe,  as  my  first  letter  was  all  right.  But  then  at  that 
time  the  whole  of  the  punishment  was  falling  on  that  second  self, 
the  young  man  of  my  metaphor,  and  I  was  cool  and  capable,  and 
wrote  his  letters  for  him.  A  few  days  later  he  merged  in  me,  and 
his  washy  identity  diluted  mine,  palsied  my  judgment,  and  made 
me  incapable  of  action.  I  really  ought  to  have  dragged  him  up  to 
London  at  once,  shown  him  to  Lossie,  and  asked  her  to  tell  him 
not  to  be  an  ass. 

But  he,  poor  fellow,  was  so  sick  with  sleeplessness,  and  I  had 
almost  written  so  weak  with  loss  of  blood,  that  I  gave  way  to  his 
prayer  to  be  allowed  to  turn  himself  round  and  think,  and  wrote 
another  letter  for  him.  He  should  have  left  me  alone  to  do  it. 
Perhaps  it  does  not  seem  so  stupid  a  letter  to  you  as  it  does  to 
me?  I  wish  I  had  some  of  my  old  letters  to  Lossie  here  now. 
You  would  understand  it  easily  enough  then. 

I  do  not  know  if  it  would  have  made  matters  any  better  if  I 
had  written  a  less  transparent  excuse  for  not  coming  to  London, 
or  even  if  I  had  been  courageous  enough  to  go.  I  don't  think  I 
acted  from  any  confessed  fear  that  I  should  be  unable  to  silence 
that  other  young  man  and  keep  him  under.  It  was  rather  that  I 
sought  safety  in  solitude,  and  had  above  all  things  a  terrible  dread 
that  I  must  hate  the  General.  The  old  love  of  Lossie  that  began 
as  she  passed  through  the  ray  of  sunshine  from  the  pantry  win- 
dow at  Poplar  Villa,  with  a  cargo  of  stewing  pears  and  little  Joey 

188 


JOSEPH  VANCE  189 

dragging  at  her  skirts,  was  still  so  much  of  a  baby  love  that  it 
shrank  from  the  idea  of  hating  anything  beloved  of  Lossie,  and 
did  not  dare  to  see  itself  revealed  in  its  new  form — in  fact,  shrank 
from  too  close  a  definition  of  what  that  new  form  was.  My 
impression  is  that  had  I  had  a  good  adviser  at  hand,  my  Mother 
for  instance,  qualified  from  a  wider  range  of  experience  to  pooh- 
pooh  a  grande  passion  for  its  victim's  sake,  pitying  him  all  the 
while,  I  should  have  decided  to  go  up  to  London  in  the  course  of 
the  following  week,  and  should  probably  have  blundered  into  some 
modus  vivendi.  As  it  was  I  went  on  flinching,  excruciating  the 
position,  and  getting  on  very  slowly,  if  at  all,  with  the  Epinicia. 

My  cowardice  might  have  set  up  a  permanent  gulf  between  me 
and  Lossie.  But  that  was  not  to  happen  yet  (whatever  came 
later)  and  that  it  did  not  do  so  then  was  entirely  due  to  Lossie's 
husband.  I  should  have  written  to  "  General  Desprez,"  but  you 
must  remember  that  I  now  look  back  at  these  early  days  through  a 
period  in  which  I  knew  him  as  her  husband.  When  he  died,  and 
I  need  not  refer  now  to  the  splendid  story  of  his  death — everybody 
knows  it — I  was  able  to  be  grateful  that  it  was  he  and  none  other 
that  Lossie  had  married. 

I  have  great  difficulty  in  telling  after  many  years  exactly  what 
occurred.  After  a  serious  attempt  to  rearrange  my  ideas,  all  I 
recollect  is,  that  some  days  (I  cannot  say  how  many)  after  my 
letter  to  Lossie  I  was  reading  or  trying  to  read  in  my  college 
room,  when  a  step  came  up  the  stairs  to  which  I  called  out  "  Come 
in  " — as  I  knew  my  outer  door  was  open.  Thinking  it  was  some 
books  I  had  ordered,  I  did  not  look  up,  but  left  my  head  (or  shall  I 
say  that  other  young  man's  head),  for  it  ached,  on  the  hand  that 
supported  it,  and  merely  said,  "  You  can  put  them  down."  Then 
I  heard  a  voice  that  was  not  a  bookseller's  nor  a  messenger's  ask 
for  me  by  name. 

I  looked  up  and  saw,  to  my  thinking,  the  handsomest  young 
middle-aged  man  I  had  ever  set  eyes  on,  and  the  very  first  thing 
that  passed  through  my  mind  was  that  he  was  out  of  uniform. 
No  doubt  my  subliminal  consciousness  had  previously  made  a  note 
of  the  fact  that  a  soldier  was  in  the  neighbourhood.  For  other 
big  men,  Townrow  of  the  'Varsity  Eight  for  instance,  had  come 
through  that  small  door,  making  it  look  smaller,  but  no  one  ever 
thought  about  uniforms  at  all.  I  went  on  to  a  perception  of  a 
grave  smile  and  pleasant  voice  and  manner,  a  massive  cheek- 
bone showing  the  scar  of  a  bad  sabre  cut  which  had  also  touched 
the  upper  lip  and  left  a  hairless  point  in  the  moustache.  One 
always  remembers  some  very  little  thing  more  clearly  than  any 


190  JOSEPH  VANCE 

thing  else,  and  I  now  recall  this  scar  as  his  hand  stroking  his 
moustache  left  it  visible.  It  was  a  great  hand  with  hair  on  the 
back,  strong  nails  and  square  knuckles,  but  blue  veins  in  a  clear 
olive  skin.  My  other  young  man  shrank  from  taking  this  hand 
when  it  came  out  for  his,  for  of  course  he  knew  who  its  owner  was, 
but  I  saw  the  necessity  for  action  and  thrust  him  aside  and  took 
it  myself.  All  I  wanted  to  do  was  to  avoid  letting  anybody  know 
of  his  existence. 

"  Hugh  Desprez,"  said  the  soldier,  answering  an  enquiry  I  had 
not  made.  "  May  I  come  in  ? " 

"Of  course — please  do!  No!  Do  go  on  smoking — I  often  have 
lots  of  fellows  all  smoking  at  once  in  here." 

"  I  came  back  through  Oxford  from  some  War  Office  business — 

I  have  a  letter  I  was  to  give  you  from "  He  paused  half  a 

second,  almost  as  if  he  feared  that  the  name  he  was  about  to  utter 
would,  spoken  by  him,  grate  on  the  other  young  man,  of  whose 
existence  of  course  he  knew  nothing.  When  it  came,  it  was 
spoken  with  great  gentleness,  almost  apologetically: — 

"—From  Miss  Thorpe." 

"From  Lossie?" 

"  From  Lossie  Thorpe,"  said  he,  and  gave  me  the  letter,  which  I 
opened  at  once.  It  ran  thus : 

"  MY  DEAR  LITTLE  JOE  :  I  have  been  waiting  from  day  to  day 
expecting  you,  and  still  no  Joe!  Do,  dear  Boy,  throw  the  books 
aside  for  a  very  little  while  and  come  up  and  see  your  big  brother- 
in-law  that  is  to  be.  You  have  no  idea  how  badly  I  want  a  real 
brother  to  welcome  him,  for  Nolly  only  regards  him  as  the  eleventh 
part  of  an  eleven,  and  as  for  Beppino,  his  behaviour  has  been 
scandalous.  He  only  glares  suspiciously  at  Hugh  and  very  seldom 
speaks,  and  you  know  he  can  talk  fast  enough  when  he  chooses. 
So  do  come  soon,  dear,  only  to  please  your  loving  big  sister,  Lossie." 

"  There's  a  postscript  on  the  other  side,"  said  my  visitor,  and  so 
there  was,  to  this  effect :  "  I  shall  just  tell  Hugh  to  call  for  you 
on  his  way  back  through  Oxford.  He  had  better  take  this  letter 
with  him." 

What  could  I  do  ?  The  task  I  saw  before  me  was  a  clear  one. 
Lossie  was  quite  unconscious  of  my  state  of  mind — why  should 
she  be  otherwise  ?  All  I  had  to  consider  was  whether  I  could  keep 
that  other  young  man  under.  Would  he  not  become  uncontrollable 
in  his  desolation,  and  break  out?  At  the  same  time  how  could  I 
conceal  his  existence  if  I  remained  in  Oxford  to  oblige  him?  No 


JOSEPH   VANCE  191 

—the  only  way  of  concealing  anything  of  this  sort  is  to  behave 
exactly  as  you  would  have  done  if  it  had  not  existed. 

"  What  time  does  your  train  go,  General  Desprez  ? "  said  I. 
This  was  what  I  should  have  said  under  other  circumstances,  so  I 
said  it  now. 

"You'll  come  back  with  me,  then?  That's  all  right!  Oh,  the 
train?  There's  one  at  one-thirty.  We  should  have  nice  time  for 
some  lunch  at  the  Hotel,  and  just  catch  it  comfortably." 

"  I'll  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  I.  And  as  I  passed  into 
my  bedroom  to  get  ready,  I  saw  in  the  dressing-glass  against  the 
wall  a  haggard  reflection,  a  lad  of  twenty  quite  worn  out  with 
want  of  sleep,  rough-headed,  jaded,  pallid.  It  was  that  other 
young  man,  not  doing  any  justice  in  his  appearance  to  the  intrepid 
resolution  just  formed  in  the  heart  of  his  original,  who  con- 
trasted him  painfully  with  the  reflection  of  the  handsome  face 
beyond,  with  no  smile  on  it  now,  only  a  troubled  gravity.  I  won- 
der whether  he  saw,  in  the  youth  his  eyes  were  fixed  on,  something 
that  brought  memories  of  other  battlefields. 

I  was  grateful  to  him  for  the  way  he  helped  me  to  ignore  that 
other  self,  all  the  more  grateful  for  the  suspicion  this  glance  at 
his  reflection  gave  birth  to  that  he  was  not  altogether  without  a 
clue.  The  only  other  thing  that  favoured  this  idea  was  something 
that  came  into  conversation  during  our  journey  up,  when  we  had 
settled  down  towards  the  form  of  intercourse  that  was  to  be  ours, 
and  were  chatting  freely  enough. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,"  said  he,  "  to  forgive  me  for  calling  Miss 
Thorpe  Lossie  when  I  speak  of  her  to  you." 

"  Why  on  earth  should  you  ?  "  said  I.     "  Of  course." 

"Well,  you're  very  kind!  But  I  don't  know  about  the  'of 
course.'  It  might  not  always  be  felt  so.  It's  taking  your  family 
name,  you  know — what  you've  always  called  her  before  I  came 
intruding  in  like  this.  You  see,  they  have  so  completely  made  me 
think  of  you  as  one  of  the  family." 

"  It  has  been  like  that." 

"  And  I  remember  that  when  I  was  a  young  chap — just  got  my 
ensigncy — my  dear  sister  got  engaged  to  a  fellow.  And  mind  you, 
she  was  the  dearest  sister  ever  a  boy  had — and  Devil  fly  away 
with  him  if  the  very  first  time  he  saw  me  he  didn't  talk  of  her  as 
Tucksey,  which  was  our  pet  name  for  her.  Oh!  how  I  hated 
him!" 

"  Perhaps  it  was  the  way  he  did  it  ? " 

"If  he  hadn't  assumed  it  as  a  right,  I  dare  say  I  should  only 
have  wanted  to  kick  him.  As  it  was,  I  wanted  to  murder  him," 


192  JOSEPH  VANCE 

and  the  General's  smile  burst  out  all  over  his  face  as  he  added, 
"  I  didn't  want  you  to  want  that,  you  know,  so  I  just  asked  leave." 

"  And  did  your  sister  go  away  ? "  said  I,  for  my  desire  to  put 
the  other  young  man  in  the  background  was  beginning  to  take 
the  form  of  an  artificial  ignoring  of  his  indifference  as  to  whether 
Lossie  went  away  or  stayed.  His  verdict  that  it  couldn't  matter 
to  him  where  Lossie  was,  as  he  was  to  lose  her  so  completely,  was 
being  set  aside  by  me  in  favour  of  a  possible  conservation  of  some 
of  Lossie  (however  little)  in  view  of  the  perfect  acceptability  of 
General  Desprez  personally.  For  what  Lossie  said  of  the  impos- 
sibility of  refusing  him  anything  was  no  mere  fancy  of  a  love- 
sick girl,  but  a  simple  fact  which  presented  itself  more  and  more 
clearly  to  me.  Slight  as  our  conversation  was  on  this  railway 
journey,  and  little  as  it  would  convey  to  a  reader,  his  effect  upon 
me  in  that  short  time  was  so  strong,  that  when  in  answer  to  my 
question  he  said  that  his  sister  had  died  in  the  first  year  of  her 
marriage,  and  then  became  thoughtful  and  silent,  I  began  to  feel 
annoyed  with  what  possibly  was  an  ungenerous  feeling  in  the  other 
young  man,  and  to  wish  I  was  more  entirely  at  liberty  to  feel 
sympathy  about  this  sister  of  his.  I  asked  what  her  husband's 
name  had  been. 

"  Towerstairs — he  was  a  cousin  of  this  chap  your  Violet  is 
going  to  marry.  I  haven't  told  Lossie  anything  about  him.  I 
shall  have  to.  But  he's  not  a  pleasant  subject — very  few  people 
easier  to  hate  on  their  merits.  But  you  mustn't  be  anxious  about 
Violet.  Dick's  not  like  him." 

"  How  do  you  like  Dick  ? " 

"I  don't  dislike  him, — rather  like  him,  in  fact — only  he's  not 
my  sort.  He's  knocked  about  a  good  deal.  But  I  think  he's 
good-hearted.  Don't  be  uneasy  about  Violet — God  bless  my  soul! 
Why,  there's  Lossie  come  to  meet  us  on  the  platform!" 

So  she  had,  and  it  was  Paddington  already.  The  other  young 
man  might  wince,  and  did,  but  it  was  a  stage  on  the  way  to 
possibility  that  I  could  stand  there  on  the  railway  platform  with 
Lossie's  two  dear  hands  in  mine,  and  say  to  that  other  young  man 
that  her  husband  that  was  to  be  was,  at  any  rate,  not  easy  to  hate 
on  his  merits. 

I  think  the  bias  in  his  favour  was  much  the  stronger  owing  to 
his  frank  and  absolute  acceptance  of  me  as  almost  a  member  of  the 
family.  His  speaking  of  "  your  Violet "  and  referring  to  un- 
easiness about  her  fiance  as  natural  to  me  in  that  position,  pro- 
duced its  effect,  and  gave  me  substantial  help  in  keeping  the  other 
young  man  in  the  background. 


CHAPTER  XXH 

HIS  NAMESAKE  IS  NOT  A 
SOURCE  OF  SATISFACTION.  A  JOLLY  WEDDING,  AND  THE  CROAKING 
AFTER.  LOSSIE'S  SEND-OFF.  POOR  JOE! 

HAVING  no  means  of  knowing  how  far  my  mind  is  peculiar  to 
myself,  I  cannot  the  least  guess  whether  after  Lossie's  marriage 
and  departure  for  India,  where  the  General  was  on  the  staff,  I 
felt  as  another  boy  of  twenty  would  have  felt  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

Looking  back  now  I  am  able  to  discern  through  it  all  a  domi- 
nant feeling  of  unflinching  love  and  loyalty  to  Lossie.  This  never 
faltered  in  the  slightest  degree.  If  I  were  writing  a  story  about 
another  youth,  such  as  I  conceive  would  be  practicable  for  the 
World's  stage,  I  should  ascribe  to  him  (at  the  outset  at  least)  a 
tendency  to  resentment,  to  discovering  some  fault  in  Lossie,  some 
bad  faith,  some  neglect  or  omission  of  something — God  knows 
what! — that  would  have  put  him  on  his  guard  against  himself. 
What  on  earth  the  rigid  moralist  expects  a  poor  girl  to  do  under 
the  like  circumstances  I  have  no  idea.  But  I  should  accept  the 
vernacular  model  for  a  stage  lover  if  I  were  concocting  one  with  a 
view  to  probability,  or  rather  to  my  idea  of  what  correct  people 
think  probable.  As  it  is,  I  am  constrained  by  the  facts;  and  can 
only  record  that  Lossie  remained  to  me  then,  as  she  remains  to 
me  now,  one  best  thing  that  has  been  mine  in  this  world.  True,  I 
have  had  but  little  of  her!  But  what  were  my  claims? — my 
deserts?  After  all,  was  I  not  what  those  young  monkeys  at  Pen- 
guin's christened  me,  a  little  blackguard  out  of  the  streets,  whom 
Lossie  had  picked  up  therefrom  and  been  a  sister  to  ?  Why  should 
receiving  so  much  constitute  a  claim  for  so  much  more?  Or  is  it 
come  to  this — that  no  girl  shall  ever  be  kind  and  sweet-hearted  to 
a  male  baby  outside  her  own  family,  because  it  is  sure  to  grow 
and  grow  and  grow,  and  in  time  become  that  monster,  a  Man, 
with  all  his  confounded  passions  and  so  forth,  which  he  will 
consider  himself  at  liberty  to  yawn  over  and  discard  in  due 
course  ? 

193 


194  JOSEPH   VANCE 

Nor  have  I  any  idea  whether  my  feeling  towards  General 
Desprez,  of  a  kind  of  love  for  him  under  protest,  was  one  that 
many  in  my  position  would  have  shared.  But  (and  this  was  the 
odd  part  of  it)  I  felt  that  it  required  his  presence  to  keep  it  alive. 
Constant  personal  evidence  of  his  acceptability  was  needed,  to 
keep  the  querulousness  of  my  secret  self,  the  other  young  man  of 
my  Oxford  fever,  in  abeyance.  He  was  disconcerted  while  I  was 
with  the  General,  and  retired  into  the  background.  As  soon  as 
the  latter  became  a  memory  he  began  to  reassert  himself  and  try 
to  convert  me  to  his  illiberal  and  jealous  sentiments.  He  did  not 
succeed  because  by  the  nature  of  things  he  was  compelled  to  share 
my  firm  and  unalterable  loyalty  to  Lossie,  which  forbade  dislike 
or  mistrust  of  any  object  of  her  affection.  Indeed,  the  nearest 
approach  I  had  to  any  sympathy  with  him  on  this  head  was  in  my 
feeling  glad  that  Lossie's  husband  would  be  such  as  to  lighten  the 
task  of  forgiveness.  This,  however,  involved  the  corollary  that 
the  absence  of  Lossie's  husband  might  make  the  maintenance  of 
forgiveness  less  easy.  I  feel  now  a  little  ashamed  of  having  given 
way  at  all  to  the  other  young  man,  but  indeed  the  concession  was 
of  the  slightest. 

I  did  not  understand  in  those  last  days  of  intercourse  with  Los- 
sie why  she  recurred  so  frequently  to  the  question  of  my  Oxford 
studies.  Possibly  it  was  that  she  knew  me  better  than  I  knew 
myself. 

"  Dear,  dear  old  Joe,"  she  said  to  me  once,  "  you  will  remember, 
won't  you,  how  you  have  promised  me  to  stick  on  for  the  degree? 
I  don't  want  you  to  overwork,  only  not  to  let  it  slide  because  I'm 
gone." 

"  I  say,  Lossie,"  said  I,  "  I  hope  you're  going  to  recollect  that 
the  celebrated  Double-First  that  I  am  to  get  is  only  imagination." 
And  I  went  on  to  point  out  that  it  was  rather  hard  lines  on  a  chap 
to  take  for  granted  that  he  was  going  to  get  high  Honours. 

"  Of  course,  Joe,  I  know  it's  only  been  pretence  about  the 
Double-First.  But  it  was  very  nice  pretence  while  it  was  all  such 
a  long  way  off,  so  don't  let's  give  it  up  altogether.  You  know  you 
may  get  a  Double-First  for  all  you  lecture  away  so  gravely  about 
a  chap's  responsibilities !  " 

"  A  pig  may  fly — you  know  the  rest." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,  Joe !  You're  quite  as  likely  as  any  othei 
bird.  Why  are  you  taking  a  new  tone  all  of  a  sudden?  Suppose 
it  was  all  pretence,  why,  let's  go  on  pretending!  Your  big  mar- 
ried sister  in  India  will  be  the  first  to  forgive  you,  dear  boy,  if 
you  get  no  degree  at  all.  But  just  think  what  she'll  feel  like  when 


JOSEPH  VANCE  195 

she  sees  her  other  little  brother's  name  high  up  in  both  lists. 
Yes,  I'll  ease  you  down  a  few  places  if  you  insist  upon  it." 

"  It  wasn't  India  when  we  pretended,  and  my  big  sister  wasn't 
going  to  be  married,"  struck  in  the  other  young  man  of  my  inner 
consciousness,  quite  audibly  to  me,  and  I  think  not  absolutely 
inaudibly  to  Lossie.  However,  to  drown  his  intrusion  I  said,  with 
a  sudden  beaming  cheerfulness  and  confidence,  that  I  daresayed  I 
shouldn't  make  a  bad  show;  and,  anyhow,  I  was  going  to  do  my 
best.  But  I  only  put  all  this  side  on  to  silence  his  murmur — and 
then  I  suspected  myself  of  having  overdone  it.  For  there  was 
grave  doubt  in  Lossie's  eyes  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  she  sud- 
denly changed  the  subject. 

"I  wish  India  was  going  to  be  half  as  easy  in  its  mind  about 
Beppino  as  about  you,  dear,"  she  said.  And  as  Beppino  was  a 
constant  source  of  anxiety  to  me  (but  chiefly  on  her  behalf)  I 
didn't  see  my  way  to  saying  anything  reassuring.  So — I  suppose 
in  order  to  say  as  little  as  possible — I  said,  "  He's  rum !  "  Then 
not  to  seem  to  dismiss  him  too  briefly,  I  added,  "You  know,  be- 
cause we've  talked  it  over  so  often,  that  I  don't  think  anything  of 
Beppino  seeming  self-centred  and  reserved,  because  it  will  all  go 
off  when  he  gets  older  and  develops." 

"  I  know,  dear  Joe,"  said  Lossie.  "  But  all  the  same  it  would  be 
rather  nice  if  he  were  a  little  more " 

"Affectionate?" 

"Exactly.  Of  course  I'm  sure  he's  very  fond  of  me  and  Vi, 
only  one  likes  a  little  more  demonstrativeness  sometimes.  Vi 
calls  him  a  selfish  little  beast,  and  says  he  ought  to  have  had  his 
nonsense  flogged  out  of  him  at  school." 

"He  would  have  been  ten  times  worse — at  least,  that's  my  be- 
lief." I  said  this  because  I  knew  Lossie  had  fits  of  repentance 
about  Joey  never  having  been  sent  to  a  Public  School,  like  me  and 
Nolly.  "But  don't  you  fuss  about  him,  Loss  dear.  He'll  be  all 
right  as  he  grows  older." 

"  I  know  we  are  both  saying  we  think  so,  Joe.  But  isn't  it  like 
what  one  says  about  the  Channel  boat  when  you  feel  a  little  unwell 
before  she  starts,  and  every  one  says  it  will  be  all  right  when  you 
get  into  the  open  sea,  and  then  when  you  do,  it's  brandy  and 
basins.  Still,  Beppino  may  be  better  as  he  grows  older — who 
can  tell?  But  I  do  certainly  wish  he  would  show  some  feeling 
somehow — if  he  got  in  a  rage  with  Hugh  for  taking  me  away,  for 
instance !  He's  so  very  philosophical  about  it." 

I  said  that  when  it  came  to  going  away,  Beppino  would  be 
heartbroken  at  parting.  "  He  must,  you  know,"  I  added  emphat- 


196  JOSEPH  VANCE 

ically.  "  How  could  he  help  it  ? "  and  that  other  young  man  felt 
a  pleasure  at  the  emphasis  with  which  I  spoke  and  tried  to  egg  me 
on  to  say  more.  But  I  silenced  him  with  an  effort,  and  then  had 
a  misgiving  that  Lossie  had  seen  the  effort,  for  it  appeared  to  me 
that  she -herself  spoke  with  one.  "You  and  Papa,"  she  said, 
laying  her  hand  on  mine,  "  must  keep  your  spirits  up,  and  remem- 
ber that  it  won't  be  for  ever.  I  shall  come  back  in  a  year  or  so — 
perhaps  less.  And  you  must  write  me  plenty  of  letters,  dear  old 
Joe;  long  ones,  you  know,  so  that  I  shall  know  all  about  every- 
thing that  goes  on  at  home — just  as  if  I  was  here !  Don't  get  up 
and  run  away.  It's  only  Hugh."  And  Lossie  held  my  hand 
firmly,  as  if  she  was  afraid  I  should  come  to  no  good  if  left  alone. 
As  soon  as  the  General  took  my  other  hand  she  released  it.  I  was 
rather  glad  he  had  come  in,  as  I  felt  the  other  young  man  would 
keep  out  of  sight  and  hearing  now. 

The  state  of  tension  and  mutual  reserve  between  us,  always 
accompanied  with  resolute  denial  of  any  need  for  either  on  my 
part  (in  so  much  as  I  of  course  affirmed  to  myself  that  Lossie  was 
unaware  of  the  earthquake  she  had  occasioned  in  the  terra  firma 
of  my  inner-consciousness),  existed  more  or  less  until  the  excru- 
ciating day  of  her  wedding  and  departure.  Her  wedding,  and  her 
sister's,  for  they  were  married  on  the  same  day. 

Is  it  worth  the  pain  to  rake  up  my  memories  of  that  day,  in 
order  to  tell  a  very  little  about  it  in  a  narrative  that  no  one  will 
read?  But  truly  I  can  remember  very  little,  for  I  was  not  in  a 
state  to  notice  much  or  closely.  Indeed,  I  can  only  record  as 
certain  that  there  was  a  monstrous  aching  sensation,  whether 
headache  or  heartache  I  cannot  say,  somewhere  in  a  throng  of 
well-dressed  people,  and  that  as  it  could  not  have  existed  without 
a  local  habitation,  it  had  been  provided  with  me  in  that  capacity 
and  afflicted  me  accordingly.  It  was  mean  of  it  to  gall  me  then, 
thwarting  my  efforts  towards  a  robust  and  cheerful  attitude  of 
mind,  which  I  felt  would  be  sadly  wanted  for  Dr.  Thorpe's 
sake.  He  had  said  to  me,  "  Well  now,  Joe,  whatever  happens  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  that  there  shall  be  a  jolly  wedding,  and 
I'll  do  all  my  croaking  after."  And  I  had  resolved  to  allow  carte- 
blanehe  to  this  aching  later  on,  if  only  it  would  leave  me  free  for 
these  few  hours. 

Very  few  external  impressions  reached  me  through  it.  One  was 
that  my  Father  became  extremely  merry  with  champagne,  and 
that  I  heard  (or  was  afraid  that  I  should  hear)  some  one  saying 
something  about  a  vulgar  fat  man  who  talked  so  loud — I  hope  no 
one  did.  I  doubt  if  I  heard  at  the  time  that  Vi's  beauty  and 


JOSEPH   VANCE  197 

splendid  get-up  threw  her  sister  quite  into  the  shade.  Probably 
it  reached  me  after,  but  even  the  oppression  on  my  mind  could  not 
close  my  eyes  to  the  difference  between  the  two  bridegrooms. 

Shall  I  find,  I  wonder,  in  those  unopened  letters  any  allusion 
to  the  last  sight  I  had  of  Lossie  on  this  last  day  of  her  single  life  ? 
As  I  look  back  now  what  I  recall  is  this. 

We — that  is  to  say,  her  father,  two  brothers,  her  aunt  and  my- 
self— had  taken  in  the  library  a  private  farewell  of  the  two  brides, 
from  which  even  the  two  bridegrooms  were  excluded.  All  had  left 
the  room  except  me.  Aunt  Izzy  after  a  final  effort  to  prevent  Vi 
and  her  Bart  from  going  to  the  Hotel  Bristol  in  Paris,  as  a  friend's 
cousin  of  hers  knew  a  lady  who  caught  smallpox  there  thirty  years 
before.  This  had  been  a  favourite  reminiscence  always  of  Aunt 
Izzy's,  because  the  Hotel  Bristol,  although  less  healthy  than  the 
Morgue,  was  very  haut-ton  in  those  days.  So  she  wasn't  likely  to 
forget  it  now.  Nolly  had  gone,  having  really  unbent  and  come 
down  to  our  mortal  level — but  then  it  wasn't  the  cricketing  season ! 
Joey  had  followed  his  sisters,  after  recapitulating  various  orders  he 
had  given  for  things  to  be  sent  him  from  abroad  during  the  wed- 
ding tour  and  subsequently  from  India,  where  General  and  Mrs. 
Desprez  were  going  by  Overland  Route  in  the  course  of  six  weeks. 
"I  will,  my  precious  child,"  said  Lossie  as  she  went  downstairs, 
"  indeed  I  will  send  you  a  beautiful  figure  of  Buddha  with  a  head 
and  hands  to  waggle  if  I  can  find  one."  And  then  Dr.  Thorpe 
had  said,  "  Come  along,  Joe !  You  must  come  and  see  them  go, 
you  know,"  and  I  had  answered,  "  I'm  coming."  And  he,  putting 
faith  in  that  statement,  went  on  in  front. 

I  was  not  so  sure  I  would  go,  though!  Could  I  not  sneak  off 
and  lie  perdu  until  the  carriages  rolled  away  and  the  darkness 
descended?  But  Lossie  herself  came  running  back  and  found  me 
there. 

"Oh,  Joe — dear  Joe — dear  old  boy!  Don't  look  so  pale  and 
heartbroken!  I  shall  come  back  to  you.  Indeed  I  shall." 

I  could  not  say  a  word.  And  her  father  began  calling  from 
below,  "  Come,  Loss,  here's  the  General  going  away  without  you. 
Look  alive ! " 

"  All  right,  Papa,  tell  him  to  take  Aunty  instead." 

I  had  begun  to  try  to  say  something,  Heaven  knows  what,  when 
Lossie,  who  had  distinguished  herself  by  not  crying,  and  had 
thereby,  as  I  afterwards  heard,  rather  scandalized  her  sister,  sud- 
denly burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  me 
kissed  me  on  both  cheeks. 

"Dear,  dear  little  Boy — dear  other  little  brother — good-bye." 


198  JOSEPH  VANCE 

My  hand  was  on  the  library  chair  in  which  her  father  was 
sitting  when  he  took  me  on  his  knee,  a  dozen  years  ago,  to  read 
the  Euclid.  The  door  that  closed  noiselessly  behind  her  was  the 
same  door  that  she  had  come  through  then  unheard,  and  I  thought 
to  myself  how  those  same  arms  had  come  round  my  neck  as  I  sat 
there,  a  small  enquiring  mind  with  all  its  life  to  come. 

If  only  I  could  have  felt  now  as  I  felt  then !  But  I  had  become 
a  man  in  the  years  between.  I  remained  to  her  the  child  of  the 
old  time  that  was  gone,  and  she  could  kiss  me.  But  I  could  not 
kiss  her  back,  though  it  might  easily  be  we  should  never  meet 
again. 

I  did  not  see,  or  at  any  rate  cannot  recall,  how  she  left  the 
room.  What  I  next  remember  is  being  alone  there  with  Dr. 
Thorpe. 


CHAPTEK  XXIII 

HOW  CHRISTOPHER  VANCE  &  CO.'s  MR.  MACFARREN  GAVE  NO  SATISFAC- 
TION. AND  HOW  A  SUBSTITUTE  WAS  FOUND  FOR  HIM.  TO  DR. 
THORPE  FOR  CONSOLATION.  OF  AN  EMPTY  WHISKEY-BOTTLE. 

"I  SUPPOSE  now  your  Miss  Lossie's  gone  a-soldierm',"  said  my 
Father  to  me  one  day  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year,  "  you'll 
be  able  to  give  a  little  of  your  time  to  your  poor  old  Daddy  ? " 

This  was  very  unfair,  but  it  was  in  my  Father's  peculiar  style; 
and  this  style  was  so  entirely  accepted  and  understood  by  all 
parties  from  Seraphina  Dowdeswell  upwards,  that  this  speech  was 
not  looked  on  by  me  as  calling  for  refutation  or  comment.  I 
accepted  the  implied  accusation  good-humouredly. 

"  Anything  want  doing,  Dad  ? " 

"  No,  Nipper  dear,  I  don't  know  that  there's  anything  particular, 
but  if  there  was  I'd  go  as  far  as  three-and-six  on  this  here  young 
Allender  not  being  able  to  do  it ! " 

This  referred  to  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Macf arren  who 
had  recently  been  engaged  as  a  Secretary.  Why  he  had  been  re- 
christened  Allender  was  a  problem  to  which  Dr.  Thorpe  and  I 
gave  a  good  deal  of  attention,  but  entirely  without  success.  My 
Father's  own  way  of  accounting  for  it  was  that  he  called  him 
Allender  because  his  name  was  Macfarren,  and  he  contrived  to 
imply  that  any  person  of  sound  mind,  and  not  bribed  or  otherwise 
biassed,  would  naturally  do  the  same  thing. 

"  Isn't  he  up  to  the  mark  ? " 

u  Yes,"  said  my  Father,  in  contradiction  of  his  first  indictment, 
"he's  up  to  the  mark  fast  enough,  for  that  matter!  But  he's 
never  fine  enough  for  his  own  likin's,  and  always  tryin'  to  put  a 
patch  on  what  he's  done  afore.  If  he'd  keep  down  to  the  mark 
instead  of  balloonin'  up,  he'd  do  better ! " 

It  struck  me  that  poor  Macfarren  was  being  found  fault  with 
for  a  very  high  quality,  usually  coveted  in  young  employes.  But  I 
asked  for  an  example,  towards  a  better  understanding  of  the  case. 
Whereupon  my  Father  informed  me  briefly  that  he  had  instructed 
his  Secretary  to  acquaint  the  Local  Authorities  that  they  were  at 
liberty  to  go  to  Hell,  but  that  under  no  circumstances  would  he 

199 


200  JOSEPH   VANCE 

comply  with  an  instruction  received  from  their  Surveyor.  "  And 
this  here  young  Allender,  he  writes  a  eivil-like  sort  of  letter,  as  if 
butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his  mouth " 

"But,  Dad,  you  know  you  didn't  expect  Macfarren  to  write 
exactly  as  you  said " 

"  Perhaps  not,  dear  Nipper.  But  I  did  expect  him  to  trarnslate 
(as  the  saying  is)  without  losing  all  the  taste  of  the  spirit.  Just 
you  read  his  letter  and  see  what  he's  washed  it  down  to " 

And  my  Father  turned  over  the  thin  pages  of  a  copying  book 
till  he  found  the  following  letter,  dated  about  a  week  since : 

"  Gentlemen : 

"  Ratchett  and  Paul's  Factory,  New  PecJcham  Rye. 
"With  reference  to  your  esteemed  favour  referring  to  Cupola 
at  above  factory  we  may  take  this  opportunity  of  pointing  out 
that  you  are  in  error  in  your  supposition  that  we  are  in  error  in 
denying  that  the  plans  have  been  in  any  respect  departed  from,  or 
that  any  infringement  of  the  Building  Act  has  been  committed  in 
the  present  construction.  In  conclusion  we  may  say  that  we  have 
no  intention  of  suspending  the  work,  as  you  suggest,  and  that  we 
are  quite  prepared  to  defend  our  action  in  paying  no  attention  to 
your  instruction.  Awaiting  your  early  reply, 
"  we  are,  Gentlemen, 

"  Your  obedient  servants, 

"  CHRISTOPHER  VANCE  &  Co. 
"p.  pr.  E.  M." 

I  was  unable  to  say  a  word  in  favour  of  Mr.  Macfarren's  style 
of  prose  composition.  But  it  was  not  this  that  my  Father  thought 
defective.  It  was  the  omission  of  any  rendering  of  his  permis- 
sion to  the  Board  of  Works  to  go  further  off  than  Purgatory. 

"  He  knows  all  the  c'rect  expressions,  and  chucks  'em  in,"  said 
his  employer,  "  but  he  don't  work  it  out  convincin' ! "  And  he 
certainly  didn't. 

"  What  was  wrong  with  the  Cupola  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  whatever !  But  the  Bricklayers  refused  to  work  on  it 
without  a  centerin',  said  it  was  dangerous  and  they  all  of  'em  had 
families.  So  I  altered  the  line  of  the  Engineer's  drawing — just 
an  inch  or  so — and  they  was  all  satisfied  and  'appy.  But  then  the 
District  Surveyor  shoves  his  bottle  nose  in — his  name's  Ditchfield 
(or  Garstin,  is  it,  I  forget  which!) — and  he  says,  *  Stop  off  this 
here  bricklayin','  says  he — l  you're  making  the  hark  of  this  here 
curve  a  good  three  inches  less  than  shown  on  droring,  and  a 


JOSEPH  VANCE  201 

higherin'  of  it  up,  in  course,  if  it's  to  work  out  the  same  narrow- 
ness stop' — you  understand  all  that,  Joey  hay? — it's  what  they 
call  marthamarticks  at  your  shop ? " 

I  understood  it  perfectly.  Intelligibility  to  the  Reader  is  not 
of  the  essence  of  the  contract  between  us,  at  least  until  I  have 
some  assurance  of  his  existence.  So  possibly  he  may  not  under- 
stand about  the  Cupola  as  clearly  as  I  did.  Never  mind ! 

"  And  there  it  was,  you  see,"  my  Father  continued.  "  Two 
bricklayers  and  three  labourers  eatin'  their  thumbs  off  for  half-a- 
day,  and  nobody  to  tell  'em  to  tell  the  Surveyor  to  'ang  himself; 
because  I  was  away,  and  George  (that's  the  foreman  on  the  job) 
he's  a  narvous  customer  and  timorous  like.  So  when  I  came  back 
to  the  Works  here,  there  was  George  had  been  waitin'  an  hour, 
after  drivin'  his  pony  like  mad,  and  then  next  mornin'  comes  a 
letter  from  the  Surveyor's  Orfice,  and  I  told  young  Allender  what 
he'd  got  to  write,  and  you  see  what  sort  of  a  job  he  turns  out. — I 
do  hate  mincin',  and  always  did." 

"If  he  had  followed  your  dictation  exactly  it  certainly  would 
have  read  better.  But  he  evidently  thinks  that  it  doesn't  much 
matter  what  there  is  in  a  letter  if  you  begin  with  a  catch-word." 

u  What's  that  ? — oh,  ah,  I  know !  When  you  write  across  the 
top,  arter  dear  Sir!  But  why  ever  couldn't  the  young  beggar 
write  H ell,  with  a  line  underneath  it,  and  then  go  on — ( Referrin' 
to  the  above,  etcetrer,  etcetrer'? — You  may  laugh,  Joey,  but  it 
would  have  had  a  sort  of  forcibleness.  Now  in  this  here  young 
Allender's  letter,  I  don't  see  where  the  forcibleness  comes  in." 

"  No  more  do  I !  You  had  better  get  a  man  who  knows  how  to 
write  a  better  letter  than  that.  Why,  he's  a  fool!  Look  how  he 
finishes  up  with  '  awaiting  your  reply '  as  if  his  letter  was  an 
enquiry ! " 

"Well  now,  Nipper  dear,  I  thought  that  the  best  part  of  the 
letter— it  looks  so  well !  " 

"  You  must  consider  what  a  letter  is  meant  to  say,  Dad. — Lots 
of  things  look  well  in  themselves,  but  it  doesn't  do  to  put  them  in 
other  things'  places." 

"Right  you  are,  Joey,  sure  enough! — See  what  a  lot  one  larns 
at  a  'Varsity!  But  this  here  young  Allender's  expressions  are  so 
conwincin'  when  by  themselves,  that  there's  nothing  you  can  lay 
hold  of  to  sack  him  by.  He  argue-bargues  with  you  like  a  winkle 
that  won't  come  out  of  his  shell." 

Nevertheless,  my  Father,  feeling  himself  fortified  by  his  counsel 
with  me,  and  having  as  it  were  the  University  of  Oxford  at  his 
back,  did  lay  hold  of  something  to  sack  Mr.  Macfarren  by,  and 


202  JOSEPH  VANCE 

sacked  him.  And  the  young  man,  feeling  himself  injured,  ap- 
pealed against  the  judgment  to  me — "  I  am  confident,  Mr.  Joseph," 
said  he,  "  that  could  you  become  fully  acquainted  with  my  usual 
standard  of  correspondence  that  none  would  be  more  ready  than 
yourself  to  admit  that  the  letter  in  question  was  far  from  equal. 
I  feel  certain,  Sir,  that  your  well-known  justice  and  impartiality 
I  may  rely  on  to  make  due  allowance  for  a  certain  amount  of 
natural  disturbance  amounting  to  upset,  and  due  to  circum- 
stances to  which  I  will  not  further  refer,  and  I  trust  you  will  not 
press  for." 

Considering  this  as  an  invitation  to  do  so,  and  also  because  my 
curiosity  was  aroused,  I  forthwith  pressed  for  the  circumstances — 
and  the  pressure  was  responded  to  with  alacrity. 

"  However  reluctant  I  may  be,"  said  Mr.  Macf arren,  for  whom 
I  was  beginning  to  anticipate  a  seat  in  Parliament,  "to  refer 
further  to  the  circumstances  I  have  referred  to  as  undesirable  for 
further  reference,  I  feel  that  I  should  do  less  than  justice  to  my- 
self were  I  to  shrink  from  communicating  to  you  that  on  more 
than  one  occasion  recently  Mr.  Vance  has  expressed  himself  with 
a  warmth  which — and  no  one  can  be  less  ready  than  myself  to 
impute  blame.  And  perhaps  I  should  hesitate  to  ascribe  to 
stimulants  a  momentary  aberration  possibly  due  to  other  causes, 
but  can  refer  for  confirmation  to  Miss  Dowdeswell " 

I  cut  Mr.  Macfarreii  short,  as  the  idea  of  holding  a  court- 
martial  on  my  Father  for  drunkenness,  with  this  chap  and  Sera- 
phina  for  witnesses,  didn't  at  all  recommend  itself  to  me.  But  I 
asked  Pheener  whether  it  was  true  that  my  Father  had  been  drunk 
and  violent  and  frightened  the  Secretary  so  that  he  couldn't  write 
his  letters,  and  Pheener,  though  she  flushed  with  indignation 
against  my  informant,  whom  she  described  as  a  "circumstantial 
young  upstart,"  nevertheless  admitted  the  truth  of  (I  presume)  his 
circumstances  by  saying,  "It  was  only  that  once,  after  all." 
Pheener  was  a  good  girl,  and  very  fond  of  her  master,  whom  she 
would  have  backed  up  in  any  amount  of  drunkenness  if  the  ques- 
tion had  been  under  public  discussion,  however  much  she  dis- 
approved of  it  in  private.  But  was  it  only  that  once,  after 
all? 

A  new  Secretary,  or  confidential  Clerk,  was  soon  found.  An 
advertisement  evoked  one  hundred  and  twenty-odd  replies. 
Among  others,  I  remember  one  from  Penzance  requiring  informa- 
tion about  exact  salary,  probable  increase  of  salary,  whether 
Advertiser  was  married,  single,  or  a  widower,  what  was  his 
religious  denomination,  and  so  on,  ending  up  with  an  enquiry 


JOSEPH  VANCE  203 

whether  a  cat  was  kept,  as  the  writer  could  not  bear  to  be  in  a 
room  where  a  cat  had  been.  Another  was  prepared  to  concede  an 
interview  if  the  Advertiser  was  Convinced  of  Sin,  and  would  write 
to  that  effect.  Another  was  an  absolute  master  of  Short-hand, 
and  spoke  seven  languages,  but  was  starting  for  Shanghai  in  three 
weeks — would  be  glad  though  of  a  stop-gap  during  that  period! 
Luckily  more  than  a  hundred  were  about  as  practicable  as  the 
foregoing,  so  less  than  twenty  remained  to  be  dealt  with.  My 
Father  suggested  making  a  bunch  of  them  and  getting  Pheener  to 
draw  one,  which  was  done;  it  turned  out  to  be  from  Robinson  in 
the  Old  Kent  Road,  and  no  sooner  was  he  open  to  view  than  my 
Father  repented,  and  said  he  had  hoped  it  would  be  Pattleborough, 
who  was  twenty-seven  and  lived  at  Highgate. 

"  But,  Dad  dear,"  said  I,  "  if  you  really  saw  one  you  had  a  fancy 
for,  why  put  him  in  a  bundle  and  then  fish  for  him?  Let's  find 
him  now  and  see  what  he's  like." 

We  identified  the  answer  my  Father  meant,  but  not  by  his 
recollection  of  it,  which  was  fallacious.  The  name  was  Hickman, 
of  27  Loughborough  Road.  And  Hickman  was  written  to  and 
gave  satisfactory  references  to  a  fish-salesman  and  a  dentist,  and 
was  installed  as  confidential  scribe  after  verification. 

I  remember  how  serious  Dr.  Thorpe  looked  over  my  narrative  of 
this  incident.  "I'm  afraid,"  said  he,  "we  shall  all  go  to  rack 
and  ruin  now  Lossie's  gone.  Shall  you  write  this  out  to  her  ? " 

"  I  have  written,"  I  replied.  "  And  I  begged  her  to  write 
straight  to  him  herself,  not  saying  that  I  had  told  her  anything, 
but  only  that  it  was  evident  I  was  uneasy.  Just  as  she  did  that 
time  after  Mother  died." 

"  It  may  do  good,  but  it  will  be  three  months  before  he  can  get 
her  letter,  and  it's  a  long  time.  I  will  try  to  speak  to  him  myself 
if  you  like,  but  I  don't  feel  that  much  good  will  come  of  it." 

"  No  more  do  I,  Doctor,  to  say  the  truth.  Of  course  you  know, 
I  do  speak  to  him  in  a  certain  sense,  and  while  I'm  here  it  will  act 
as  a  check,  but  it's  not  like  Lossie." 

We  were  sitting  in  the  half -dark  of  a  fire-lighted  room  at  Poplar 
Villa.  The  others  had  gone  to  bed,  and  I  had  put  the  moderator 
lamp  outside  to  finish  smoking  after  running  down  and  being 
blown  out.  We  sat  silent  as  the  fire  flickered,  and  each  was  think- 
ing that  nothing  was  like  Lossie.  Each  was  a  bit  afraid  to  talk 
much  to  the  other  about  her.  So  I  held  on  to  silence,  and  when 
the  Doctor  spoke  again  he  harked  back  on  the  conversation. 

"  And  what  a  clever  man  your  Father  would  have  been,  if  he  had 
only  had  education!  Fancy  his  knowing  that  a  dome  could  be 


204  JOSEPH  VANCE 

safely  built  without  a  centering!  And  standing  out  against  the 
opinion  of  the  bricklayers !  " 

"  Yes — for  a  man  who  says  he  knows  nothing  about  building, 
and  never  did,  that's  not  bad ! " 

"  But  I  suppose  his  draughtsman  in  the  Office  there  backed  him 
up — he  wasn't  alone  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  was — says  they  were  all  against  him  to  a  man.  And 
the  bricklayers  refused  at  first  to  go  on  with  it,  till  he  altered  it, 
and  then  the  Surveyor  cut  up  rough — said  he  knew  it  would  be 
safer,  but  it  was  an  alteration." 

"And  has  your  Father  satisfied  the  requirements  of  the 
Building  Act?" 

"He's  satisfied  the  Surveyor."  And  those  who  remember 
Prae-County-Council  history  in  matters  of  London  building  will 
appreciate  Dr.  Thorpe's  delicacy  in  pursuing  this  conversation  no 
further.  Instead  of  doing  so  he  prepared  to  retire  to  his  library, 
to  do  a  little  peaceful  writing  before  going  to  bed,  and  I  said  good- 
night and  walked  away  home. 

I  had  noticed  the  contents  of  the  whiskey-bottle  at  lunch,  and 
knew  my  father  had  taken  only  a  very  moderate  allowance,  before 
I  started  to  walk  over  to  Poplar  Villa.  I  had  dined  there,  and  he 
had  had  some  dinner  alone,  as  he  was  expecting  some  one  on  busi- 
ness later.  When  I  arrived,  I  found  him  in  the  large  leather 
chair  in  the  Snuggery,  sound  asleep  and  snoring  heavily.  The 
whiskey-bottle  was  empty  on  the  table  beside  him,  and  I  looked 
round  hoping  to  see  more  empty  glasses  than  one,  indicating  that 
he  had  been  helped  through  quite  two-thirds  of  the  bottle.  But 
I  could  see  none.  And  in  the  morning  I  noticed  that  my  Father 
was  ill-tempered. 


CHAPTEK  XXIV 

JOE'S  DUPLEX  GEAR  DISCOMFORTS  HIM.  JUSTICE  TO  PINDAR.  HOW  JOE 
WENT  TO  LYNMOUTH  WITH  A  READING  PARTY,  AND  INVITED  MASTER 
JOSEPH  THORPE.  THE  LATTER  GOES  UNDER  A  SEA-ROCK.  JOE  AFTER 
HIM.  HOW  A  LIFE  WAS  SAVED  FOR  ONE  WHO  COULD  NOT  USE  IT  FOR 
GOOD. 

WHEN  I  returned  seriously  to  reading,  the  first  thing  I  did  was 
to  put  the  Epinicia  on  the  shelf  and  go  to  other  work.  The 
associations  of  Pindar  had  become  painful.  It  would  have  been 
wiser  as  an  act  of  discipline  to  go  through  them  at  whatever  cost. 
I  put  them  aside  to  finish  later  in  the  year,  and  in  the  meanwhile, 
deserving,  as  I  thought,  a  little  real  restful  luxury,  devoted  myself 
to  Differential  and  Integral  Calculus.  By  alternating  these 
Scientific  Recreations  with  the  Spherical  Engine  and  its  Recipro- 
cating Movement,  I  contrived  to  wile  away  a  good  deal  of  time, 
and  to  make  my  life  endurable  enough.  As  I  have  already  had 
the  originality  to  remark,  Youth  and  Hope  will  reassert  their 
rights  even  after  the  severest  shocks.  Of  course  I  remained  all 
right — almost  boastfully  so!  It  was  the  other  young  man,  who 
being  as  it  were  me  against  my  will,  would  make  me  get  up  off 
the  bed  where  he  was  passing  a  sleepless  night,  to  pace  monot- 
onously about  over  the  head  of  a  Duke's  nephew  underneath,  who 
complained  to  the  Master,  and  procured  for  me  an  admonition, 
and  for  himself  an  apology.  It  was  the  other  young  man  who  in 
consequence  went  for  long  walks  at  night;  who  distracted  my 
attention  in  the  day  from  whatever  I  was  engaged  on  to  remind 
me  of  old  days  at  Poplar  Villa ;  who  refused  to  eat  the  food  that  I 
provided  for  him;  who  was  constantly  demanding  the  solace  of  a 
pipe,  which  I  was  compelled  to  smoke  on  his  behalf.  It  was  cruel 
of  him,  for  I  had  also  my  own  anxieties  to  attend  to,  about  which 
he  did  not  trouble  in  the  least.  He  said  more  than  once  that  if 
my  Father  chose  to  drink  too  much  whiskey  it  really  was  his  own 
lookout,  and  he  couldn't  bother  himself  about  it.  There  was  only 
one  thing  about  which  he  and  I  were  agreed,  and  that  was  the  pipe. 
His  retrospects  about  Poplar  Villa  and  the  old  unforgotten  time 
became  more  forgiving  and  peaceful,  and  I  grew  more  sanguine 

AOft 


206  JOSEPH   VANCE 

of  good  effects  from  Lossless  letter  from  India  when  it  should 
come,  as  he  and  I  watched  the  smoke-rings  travel  across  the  room, 
and  hang  in  the  air  and  slowly  vanish. 

Still  he  became  so  troublesome  whenever  I  went  back  to  the 
Classics  I  had  been  reading  at  the  time  of  Lossie's  engagement, 
that  in  order  to  do  them  justice  I  felt  a  change  of  scene  was  neces^ 
sary.  So  when  an  intimate  College  friend  suggested  that  I  should 
accompany  him  and  four  other  fellows  and  a  Tutor  to  Lynmouth 
in  Devonshire  on  a  reading  party  I  accepted  the  invitation  grate- 
fully. His  name  was  Featherstonehaugh,  but  he  was  called 
Guppy  for  short,  by  his  friends. — I  remember  once  at  a  place 
where  we  were  playing  at  finding  out  words  with  ivory  alphabets, 
I  chose  all  the  letters  of  Featherstonehaugh  and  mixed  them  up, 
and  though  I  declared  that  it  was  a  fairly  well-known  Scotch 
name,  all  efforts  to  guess  it  failed,  and  I  scored  accordingly. 

If  a  man  could  be  half-a-dozen  people  at  once  and  wanted  to 
enjoy  himself  thoroughly,  I  should  recommend  him  to  be  a  read- 
ing party  in  a  fine  Autumn  at  a  seaside  place  in  Devon.  I  leave 
other  people  to  advocate  other  localities,  and  adhere  as  in  duty 
bound  to  the  one  I  got  so  much  satisfaction  from  myself.  It  is 
very  desirable  that  all  danger  from  overwork  should  be  avoided 
among  young  men  who  have  only  lately  done  growing,  and  the 
climate  of  Devon  is  a  most  favourable  one  in  this  respect.  For  if 
the  reading-party  goes  out  for  a  swim  in  the  early  morning, 
dressed  in  the  most  extravagantly  coloured  flannel  shirts  it  can 
buy,  and  after  stopping  in  the  water  too  long,  throws  stones  for 
quite  half-an-hour  at  a  sea-gull,  who  takes  no  notice,  and  then  goes 
home  to  a  breakfast  of  fish  and  eggs  and  bacon  and  even  kidneys, 
and  tea  and  coffee  and  marmalade  and  rolls  and  potted  meat  and 
no  shrimps  this  morning — this  reading  party,  I  say,  by  the  time  it 
has  lighted  its  pipes  and  settled  down  to  work  on  the  beach  or 
Tinder  the  trees  at  Watersmeet  or  elsewhere,  will  be  sure  to  drop 
asleep  contrary  to  its  usual  practice  and  to  wake  up  and  remark 
that  it  says  that  this  will  never  do,  it  has  been  asleep  ever  so  long. 
This  is  entirely  due  to  the  climate.  In  Scotland  it  is  otherwise. 
The  mountain  air  is  so  stimulating  that  you  very  soon  read  your- 
self into  a  brain-fever.  At  least  so  I  was  assured  by  authorities — 
I  have  never  read  there  myself. 

I  really  believe  I  was  the  only  conscientious  book-worm  of  all 
that  happy  party.  I  am  sure  I  was  the  only  one  under  a  cloud, 
or  else  all  the  others  made  believe  very  successfully.  It  is  quite 
true  that  one  of  them,  named  Thornberry,  told  me  that  a  canker- 
worm  was  gnawing 'at  his  vitals,  but  nobody  could  have  guessed  it, 


JOSEPH  VANCE  207 

as  he  was  one  of  the  merriest  of  the  lot,  and  his  digestion  was  to 
all  appearance  perfect.  The  entozoid  he  mentioned  had  been 
placed  in  his  system  by  a  young  lady  named  Emily  whom  he  had 
sate  on  the  stairs  with  at  two  dances,  and  once  met  in  Hyde  Park. 
I  did  not  reciprocate  his  confidence.  Even  my  other  young  man 
didn't  want  me  to  do  this. 

Our  Tutor  had  been  selected  with  a  view  to  non-interference, 
and  was  so  often  required  to  wink  at  omissions  that  at  last,  at 
some  particular  wink,  his  eye  remained  shut.  He  had  so  recently 
graduated  that  the  iron  of  the  degree  had  not  had  time  to  enter 
into  his  soul,  and  he  was  as  a  new  Pope  intoxicated  with  the 
security  of  his  position  and  flinging  indulgences  about  without 
consideration  for  the  stock.  He  might  also  be  likened  to  the 
Kaffir  lately  inducted  into  the  trousers  of  civilisation,  who  cannot 
be  relied  on  not  to  pull  them  off  suddenly  and  backslide  into 
Heathenism.  He  had  proved  a  blessing  to  the  men  who  coached 
him,  Europe  having  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  coaches  who 
could  pass  J.  Hall  Shaw  could  pass  anybody.  And  sent  her  sons 
to  them  to  be  passed  accordingly. 

After  we  had  been  enjoying  ourselves  for  about  a  week,  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  it  might  be  well  if  Joey  Thorpe  were  to  pay  me 
a  visit.  It  would  give  him  an  opportunity  of  enlarging  his  ideas, 
which  I  always  supposed  were  cramped  by  narrow-minded  tutors, 
and  of  getting  his  first  introduction  to  University  life  in  an  in- 
direct way.  For  his  Father's  intention  was  that  Joey  should 
sooner  or  later  go  to  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  according  as  the  bias 
of  his  mind  was  towards  Classics  or  Mathematics. 

Joey  came,  and  I  had  a  good  opportunity  of  finding  what  the 
boy  was  really  like.  Of  course  I  may  be  said  to  have  had  ample 
opportunities  before,  as  I  had  known  him  from  babyhood.  But 
while  Lossie  was  to  the  fore,  I  lived  under  a  spell  which  forbade 
my  seeing  Joey  otherwise  than  as  she  wished  him  to  be  seen.  I  was 
continually  disguising  him  in  my  own  mind  to  help  her  to  disguise 
him  in  hers.  And  each  of  us  helped  the  other  to  indulge  a  false 
view  of  Master  Joseph,  who  really  was,  to  put  him  plainly,  one 
of  the  most  selfish  little  beggars  I  ever  came  across.  When  I 
write  of  him  now  with  some  impatience,  please  note  that  it  is 
provoked  by  my  recollection  of  him  at  this  time,  and  has  nothing 
to  do  with  his  subsequent  misdeeds. 

It  was  rather  disgusting  to  me,  a  week  after  introducing  him 
into  our  septemvirate  as  Dr.  Thorpe's  youngest  son  (the  Doctor 
being,  of  course,  well  known  by  fame),  to  find  that  he  had  been 
already  christened  "the  Cub."  I  knew  my  friends  were  as  liberal 


208  JOSEPH  VANCE 

and  generous-hearted  as  any  average  lot  of  University  boys  any- 
where, and  I  knew  also  that  I  was  popular  among  them.  So  I 
felt  this  discovery,  on  Lossie's  account.  How  could  I  write  to  her 
in  India  of  Joey's  visit,  and  either  conceal  from  her  or  tell  her 
he  had  earned  this  disgraceful  sobriquet?  Of  course  I  was  not 
intended  to  hear  it;  and,  equally  of  course,  I  did  hear  it.  Then 
regret  ensued. 

"I  say,  Pindar,"  said  Featherstonehaugh,  using  my  nickname 
at  the  time.  For  we  had  a  profusion  of  nicknames,  varying  ac- 
cording to  the  particular  study  of  the  moment.  Just  now  I  was 
on  my  Isthmian  Odes  again,  nearing  the  end. 

"What's  the  rumpus,  Guppy?" 

"We're  sorry,  old  chap." 

"What  for?" 

"For  calling  little  Thorpe  the  Cub,  and  you  hearing  it.  We 
didn't  go  to  do  it,  old  chap ! " 

"What  an  old  Ass  you  are  then,  Gup!  Of  course  if  you  lie 
on  your  back  in  the  sea,  and  shout  out  things  to  friends  on  the 
top  of  a  cliff,  everybody  is  sure  to  hear  what  you  say." 

"  Sure  to !  "  said  Guppy,  pulling  thoughtfully  at  a  cigar.  "  Sure 
to!  But  we  didn't  want  you  to,  all  the  same." 

However,  Joey  had  got  his  nickname,  and  it  stuck  to  him.  It's 
not  so  easy  to  undo  a  thing  of  this  sort! — So  when  a  few  days 
after  this  we  were  all  plunging  off  the  rocks,  and  Joey  suddenly 
disappeared  and  didn't  come  up  again,  the  cry  that  called  my  at- 
tention was,  "  The  Cub's  gone  under !  the  Cub's  gone  under !  " 

I  was  across  the  rock  starting  to  swim  out  into  the  outer  wash, 
of  the  sea;  and  as  I  heard  the  cry,  struck  back  and  was  landed  on 
the  rock  as  the  incoming  wave  rose.  Within  and  in  the  shelter  of 
the  rock  lay  our  boat;  and  from  the  heaving  green  mass  that 
surged  and  sank  as  the  rock-basin  filled  and  emptied  rose  the 
heads  of  three  who  had  dived  for  him  at  once — Featherstonehaugh, 
Thornberry,  and  Carvalho,  the  last  a  young  man  in  whose  face 
one  saw  an  Arab  or  Negro  ancestry  written  plainly.  He  shouted 
as  he  rose : 

"He's  under  the  rock!  It's  a  cave — it's  a  cave,"  and  in- 
stantly dived  again.  He  was  a  splendid  diver,  and  the  surface 
smoothed  over  him,  and  I  knew  he  was  seeking  about  in  the  still 
green  water  below. 

"  For  God's  sake,  you  two,"  I  shouted,  "  don't  dive.  Get  to  the 
boat."  And  then  somehow  we  three  were  all  in  the  boat,  and  I 
was  fastening  a  longish  rope  we  had  with  us  round  my  waist. 

"  Keep  hold  of  the  end,"  I  cried,  "  and  pay  out  clear ! "    And 


JOSEPH  VANCE  209 

down  I  went  straight  towards  the  rock  and  under  the  hollow  of  it, 
for  the  evidence  of  which  I  only  had  conjecture  and  the  word  of 
Carvalho.  Had  it  not  been  as  described  I  should  have  been 
stunned  probably. — As  it  was  I  felt  him  slip  by  me,  rising  winded 
from  his  immersion.  Down  I  went,  and  turning  over  saw  above 
me — almost  still — the  floating  body  of  Beppino.  It  was  a  case  for 
a  great  effort,  and  I  made  it.  I  got  him  down,  got  him  under  the 
rock  ledge,  gave  him  a  push  for  the  open  and  then  felt  a  con- 
vulsion as  the  water  choked  me.  I  was  just  aware  of  the  rope 
drag  as  they  pulled  me  out.  Then  I  became  insensible  and  knew 
nothing  till  I  found  myself  coming  to  in  great  misery  on  a  bed 
with  my  friends  about  me.  It  is  said  by  many  of  those  rescued 
in  this  way  that  drowning  is  not  a  painful  death.  But  few  of 
them  have  a  word  in  favour  of  resuscitation. 

"When  you  went  under/'  said  Guppy  to  me  afterwards, 
"  Tripey  "  (which  was  one  of  Thornberry's  nicknames)  "  was  taken 
funky  and  wanted  to  haul  you  out.  But  I  told  him  not  to  be  an 
Idiot.  Then  we  saw  the  Cub's  carcass  under  water  and  Blackey 
fetched  him  out,  while  Tripey  and  I  got  you  into  the  boat.  The 
way  you  kept  slipping  was  enough  to  put  one  past,  as  Nibs  at 
Balliol  used  to  say.  There  was  no  keeping  hold!  However,  we 
got  both  your  corpses  on  board  and  rowed  straight  for  the  Coast- 
guard Station,  where  they  put  hot  things  to  your  feet  and  waggled 
your  arms  about.  The  Cub  came  to  first,  and  what  do  you  think 
was  the  first  thing  he  said  ? " 

At  this  point  Featherstonehaugh  became  convulsed  with 
laughter. 

"  Cut  on,  Guppy !     Don't  go  on  giggling  like  that." 

"  I  couldn't  help  smiling.  Well,  the  very  first  thing  the  young 
beggar  said  was — you  won't  believe  it !  " 

"  Do  cut  on,  Gup !  " 

" '  Why — didn't — you — pull — me — out  ? '  Those  were  his  very 
words.  And  he  makes  a  grievance  of  it  now.  Why,  you  heard 
him  at  dinner  yesterday !  " 

And  indeed  it  was  true  that  Beppino  had  confessed  to  a  belief 
that  we  all  sat  on  the  beach  and  smoked  for  an  hour  or  so  while 
he  was  drowning.  "  No  doubt  he  really  thought  so,"  said  I.  "  Il- 
lusion— hallucination — delassement  of  the  senses — all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  You  and  your  delassmongs"  said  Guppy,  with  an  accent  show- 
ing his  scorn  of  French  language  and  literature.  "  Why  didn't 
you  have  hallucinations?  You  were  clear  enough  when  you  came 
to." 


210  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"But  what  dtdlsay?" 

"What  did  you  say?— ' Is  the  child  safe?'  I  think  it  was— 
or  something  of  that  sort." 

Then  I  remembered  that  as  I  caught  sight  of  the  slim  form 
of  the  Cub  afloat  above  me  I  thought  to  myself  that  it  was  actually 
the  chubby  voluble  baby  of  ten  years  ago.  And  that  if  I  failed  to 
save  him  I  could  never  look  Lossie  in  the  face  again ! 

I  wonder  whether  if  Betsy  Austin  (who  is  dusting  at  this  mo- 
ment) could  be  told  the  above  story,  would  she  find  it  possible  to 
believe  that  the  elderly  studious  quill-driving  first-floor  whom  she 
despises,  or  affects  to  despise,  for  his  effeminacy  and  cowardly 
shrinking  from  draughts;  his  fussiness,  or  tendency  to  take  excep- 
tion to  raw  mutton  chops  and  under-boiled  potatoes;  and  chief est 
of  all  his  puerile  attachment  to  the  silly  game  of  chess — could 
Betsy  Austin  believe  that  he  once  shot  into  those  ripples  on  that 
errand,  never  knowing  the  way  would  be  clear?  Betsy  has  never 
seen  the  sea,  and  does  not  wish  to,  having  a  low  opinion  of  it; 
but  that  rock-ledge  could  be  explained  to  her,  and  the  grizzly  doubt 
whether  it  went  down  straight  or  turned  in  cave-wise  would  sug- 
gest itself  even  to  Betsy.  However,  I  will  not  interrupt  the  dust- 
ing to  get  her  views.  Her  standard  of  dusting  is  as  low  as 
Wordsworth's  standard  of  drunkenness ;  and  if  she  gives  a  divided 
attention  it  will  be  worse  still. 

But  you,  perhaps,  will  believe  me  when  I  say  that  even  now  I 
can  almost  hear  the  water  in  my  ears  of  thirty-five  years  ago. 
And  again  I  dive  down,  down,  down,  and  then  turn  over  and  see 
my  quarry  above  me,  and  it  gives  the  slightest  jerk  as  I  seize  it, 
and  then  is  still.  And  then  I  use  my  last  force  to  save  it,  and 
all  is  darkness. 

I  have  seen  that  rock  since,  for  I  found  it  when  I  visited  Lyn- 
mouth  a  year  ago.  It  was  unchanged  after  three  decades,  and 
seemed  quite  content  that  the  ocean  wash  should  still  lisp  and 
ripple  against  it  as  it  did  then.  There  was  a  merry  party  of  boys 
bathing  from  it;  and  one  of  them,  to  whom  I  talked  about  the 
dangers  of  this  coast,  told  me  how  the  old  coastguard,  up  at  the 
flagstaff  over  there,  had  told  him  a  story  of  how  a  boy  had  got 
under  this  very  rock,  and  a  chap  had  jumped  in  and  got  him  out. 
But  he  added  that  it  was  an  orfully  long  time  ago,  and  seemed  to 
think  this  a  very  extenuating  circumstance. 


CHAPTEE  XXV 

HOW  JOE  WOULD  HAVE  TAKEN  A  BETTER  DEGREE  BUT  FOR  CHESS.  HOW 
HE  PATENTED  HIS  SPHERICAL  ENGINE.  HIS  DIFFICULTIES  WITH  THE 
BRITISH  ENGINEER.  OF  HOW  HE  IS  CHEATED  AND  HIS  FATHER  COMES 
TO  THE  RESCUE. 

I  WROTE  the  last  chapter  for  the  sake  of  the  bathing  incident, 
and  without  any  intention  of  showing  that  my  application  to 
reading  was  lessened  at  this  date.  But  when  I  re-read  it  myself 
I  see  between  the  lines  that  this  was  the  case,  and  that  Lossie's 
misgivings  were  not  without  foundation.  I  did  not  become  idle. 
But  a  powerful  unconscious  stimulus  was  removed — a  stimulus 
that  I  myself  had  never  realized  or  understood. 

When  a  runner  resolves  to  do  his  best  in  the  race,  the  impulse 
of  his  first  resolution  lasts  him  to  the  end.  His  effort  is  auto- 
matic, and  its  uniformity  will  not  be  interrupted.  A  course  of 
study  to  end  in  Academical  honours  is  quite  another  thing;  and 
effort  may  either  be  intensified  by  the  introduction  of  a  new 
motive,  or  chilled  by  the  removal  of  an  old  one.  Concurrent  cir- 
cumstance has  its  say  in  the  matter.  This  is  prosy,  but  true. 

When  I  first  became  the  proud  possessor  of  my  New  Exercise 
Books  at  Penguin's  I  registered  a  vow  of  strenuous  effort  for  Miss 
Lossie's  sake,  and  the  vow  remained  a  fundamental  part  of  my 
existence,  without  need  of  re-registration  as  long  as  its  cause 
formed  part  of  my  existence  too.  But  the  cause  had  been  tam- 
pered with,  and  though  it  still  remained,  its  nature  had  been 
altered  in  some  sense  I  had  never  regarded  as  possible,  never  hav- 
ing investigated  its  possibilities  of  change.  I  was  not  unlike  the 
tree  that  blooms  to  the  full  until  one  day  its  tap-roots  strike  a 
new  stratum.  I  was  a  seedling  that,  knowing  no  nourishment 
but  one,  did  not  even  know  it  was  nourishment  until  it  was  with- 
drawn. 

I  did  not  become  idle.  That  was  not  in  the  nature  of  the 
animal.  But  I  found  out  that  my  desire  for  distinction  was  a 
very  shadowy  one  when  left  to  itself;  and  although  it  was  still 
actuated  by  Lossie  from  afar,  it  was  not  the  same  thing  as  having 
her  close  at  hand.  I  began  to  neglect  studies  that  I  only  cared 

211 


212  JOSEPH  VANCE 

for  as  a  means  to  an  end — the  end  being  Honours.  I  might 
parody  Crabbe  and  say  that  gradual  each  day  I  loved  my  Classics 
less,  my  Physics  more;  and  I  might  even  finish  as  in  the  original, 
that  I  learned  to  play  at  Chess.  I  did,  and  I  really  think  Chess 
had  as  much  to  do  as  anything  with  the  lowness  of  the  place  I 
took  in  Honours.  It  was  a  respectable  place,  but  no  more.  So 
I  shan't  tell  you  what  it  was.  You  must  look  in  the  lists 
for  '62. 

Poor  Lossie!  She  was  sadly  cut  up  about  it,  blaming  herself 
and  exculpating  me.  I  have  her  letter  still  in  which  she  says  that 
she  was  sure  it  would  all  have  been  different  if  things  had  only 
gone  on  just  as  they  were  two  years  ago.  The  change  was  all  her 
selfishness.  "  But  then,"  she  adds,  "  what  would  have  become  of 
Hugh  if  I  had  not  married  him?"  My  other  self,  who  was 
scotched  but  not  killed,  said  unfeelingly  that  that  was  no  concern 
of  his.  There  was  a  second  letter  in  her  envelope,  from  the  Gen- 
eral, and  when  I  read  it  to  him  it  made  that  young  man  feel 
horribly  ashamed  of  himself :  "  Lossie  tells  me,"  he  wrote,  "  that  I 
ought  to  condole  with  you  for  getting  down  on  the  list  as  low  as 
a  place  which  I  should  have  been  only  too  proud  to  see  a  real 
brother  of  mine — get  up  to.  So  don't  expect  any  commiseration 
at  this  shop !  I've  been  trying  to  cheer  her  up  about  it,  by  telling 
her  my  real  opinions  about  competitive  examinations  of  all  sorts. 
I  hate  them  myself  as  much  as  I  hate  War.  But  one  has  to  face 
both.  What  would  become  of  Army  Contractors  without  War, 
and  Coaches  without  examinations?" 

However,  I  was  perfectly  conscious  that  I  could  have  scored 
much  better  if  I  had  let  the  Spherical  Engine  alone,  and  dis- 
carded chess-boards  altogether,  instead  of  merely  when  playing 
Chess.  One  shouldn't  play  without  a  board  when  one  has  an 
Exam,  next  day,  unless  it's  in  Divinity  or  something  of  that  sort. 
I  was  aware  that  I  had  not  done  myself  justice,  and  my  vanity  got 
some  consolation.  But  I  was  destined  to  humiliation,  for,  coming 
up  to  London  after  the  fight  was  over,  I  sauntered  into  Simpson's 
chess-rooms  and  lost  game  after  game  against  professional  hands 
at  the  rate  of  two-and-sixpence  each.  Indeed,  I  only  succeeded  in 
drawing  once,  and  then  I  suspect  it  was  because  my  opponent  took 
too  much  brandy  and  soda.  This  opponent,  however,  told  me  a 
story  that  acted  as  a  wholesome  warning.  I  happened  to  speak  of 
the  University  and  my  recent  degree,  and  he  remarked  with  a 
sigh  that  there  had  been  a  time  when  he  too  was  a  promising 
young  man,  at  Cambridge,  for  whom  his  backers  predicted  a  high 
Wranglership.  "  But  I  failed,"  said  he,  "  and  all  because  of  this 


JOSEPH   VANCE  213 

confounded  game!  I  got  involved  in  it,  and  couldn't  get  free. 
I  might  have  been  a  useful  member  of  Society — an  actuary  or  an 
average-stater  or  something  of  that  sort,  and  here  I  am,  a  profes- 
sional Chess-player,  with  nothing  to  boast  of  better  than  that 
Steinitz  cannot  give  me  a  Knight !  "  I  laid  the  warning  to  heart, 
and  said  check  to  all  my  chessmen. 

But  I  was  not  minded  to  say  good-bye  to  the  Spherical  Engine. 
Have  you  never  when  in  trouble  felt  a  relief  in  some  form  of 
employment  that  precludes  thought  on  any  other?  Mechanics  do 
this,  just  as  much  as  Collecting,  or  Cricket,  or  Fishing.  My 
reciprocating  movement  was  an  absorbing  delight,  and  all  that 
seemed  to  be  wanting  for  perfect  happiness  was  to  see  it  recipro- 
cate. The  more  effectively  an  Engine  reciprocates  in  the  brain 
of  its  inventor,  the  more  irritated  that  inventor  becomes  at  not 
seeing  it  externalized  and  fulfilling  its  destiny.  As  my  Father 
was  always  ready  to  supply  me  with  money,  and  as  I  had  no 
scruple  in  asking  him  for  it  as  an  Endowment  of  Research,  I 
devoted  myself  to  development  and  construction.  I  alleged  for 
the  deception  of  all  concerned,  myself  included,  that  I  only  did 
this  while  I  was  looking  round  and  making  choice  of  a  profession. 
As  I  never  took  my  eyes  off  cams  and  levers  and  journals  and 
condensers  and  so  forth  except  at  meal-times  or  in  bed,  the  fields  I 
explored  in  this  search  were  not  extensive.  But  I  must  have  been 
persuaded  that  it  was  genuine,  for  when  I  registered  my  first 
Provisional  at  the  Patent  Office  I  flattered  myself  that  by  the 
time  it  became  necessary  to  complete  the  Patent,  the  Engine  would 
be  reciprocating  and  developing  cumulative  energy  (I  think  that 
was  what  it  was  to  do)  and  the  profession  would  be  chosen,  and 
all  honest  demands  and  aspirations  satisfied.  How  innocent  I  was 
of  any  suspicion  of  my  own  ignorance!  I  have  since  learned 
much  of  the  difficulties  in  the  path  of  the  Inventor.  I  am  afraid 
I  fancied  construction  would  be  as  easy  as  Patenting. 

However,  sufficient  for  the  day  was  the  evil  thereof;  and  having 
registered  this  Provisional  Specification,  I  had  nine  whole  months 
before  me  in  which  to  construct  a  Spherical  Engine,  and  to  look 
about  me  for  a  profession.  As  I  have  hinted  above,  I  thought 
I  was  going  to  have  an  easy  time,  and  I  hadn't. 

You  can  lead  a  horse  to  the  water,  but  you  cannot  make  him 
drink.  The  first  Practical  Men  I  applied  to,  on  stepping  out  of 
the  region  of  drawing  and  mere  theory,  were  deeply  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  my  old  friend  Porky  Owls,  and  bristled  with  stubborn 
resistance  to  the  reception  of  new  ideas,  or  any  ideas.  As  they 
were  all  exactly  alike,  one  example  will  do  for  the  lot.  Messrs. 


214  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Ratchett  &  Paul,  for  whom  my  Father  had  built  their  great  Iron 
Foundry  and  Engineer's  Shops,  had  examined  my  drawings  and 
pronounced  them  very  ingenious  and  practicable  (they  were 
owing  0.  Vance  &  Co.  a  large  balance),  but  excused  themselves 
from  undertaking  them  as  not  quite  in  their  line.  They  intro- 
duced me  to  McGaskin  &  Flack,  who  were  special  in  the  construc- 
tion of  models,  and  would  give  an  overpowering  amount  of  con- 
centrated attention  to  this  one. 

"If  you'll  take  the  advice  of  a  practical  man,  Mr.  Vance,  ye'll 
give  up  the  idea,"  said  Mr.  McGaskin,  after  glancing  slightly  at 
the  drawings. 

"I  daresay  the  whole  thing's  impracticable  for  some  technical 
reason  I  in  my  ignorance  know  nothing  about,"  said  I,  ^But 
couldn't  you  indicate  the  nature  of  it  that  I  might  be  able  ttt  cor- 
rect it." 

"I  wadna  tak'  upon  mysel'  to  eendicate  the  nature  of  anything, 
wi'out  a  verra  close  exameenation." 

It  would  have  been  rude  to  say,  "  Then  why  the  Devil  don't  you 
make  one  ? "  So  I  said  instead  that  I  would  leave  the  drawings 
and  return  when  Mr.  McGaskin  had  had  more  time  to  examine 
them. 

"  I  couldna  condescend  on  any  parteecular  defect,"  was  that 
gentleman's  remark  when  I  returned  a  week  after.  "  But  if  ye'll 
tak'  my  advice  ye'll  give  up  the  idea." 

"  I  won't  take  your  advice,  Mr.  McGaskin.  And  if  I  take  the 
drawings  away  I  shall  only  go  to  some  one  else — so  you  may  as 
well  accept  the  job." 

"  A  wilful  chiel  maun  hae  his  wull,"  said  he.  But  he  rang  a 
bell,  which  procured  a  boy  who  undertook  to  tell  Callaghan  to 
send  Pring. 

When  Pring  came  he  stood  at  bay  at  once.  "  You'll  never  make 
that  work,"  said  he.  He  really  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  looked 
at  the  drawings. 

"  Aweel,  Preeng,  this  gentleman's  a  graiduate  o*  the  Univairsitee 
of  Oxford,  and  ye'll  try  to  give  him  every  satisfaction.  Ye'll  no 
be  takkin'  any  responsibeelitee,  ye  ken !  " 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  Sir.     But  it  won't  work!  " 

Pring  had  a  conviction  that  the  really  essential  point  was  that 
he  should  be  satisfied  of  the  final  success  of  the  Engine.  Also  he 
wished  everything  to  act  the  other  way  round,  to  add  a  sixteenth 
to  the  diameters  of  most  things,  and  substitute  steel  for  iron, 
iron  for  steel,  gun-metal  for  brass,  and  anti-friction  metal  for 
gun-metal.  He  declined  to  put  faith  in  calculation,  and  went  so 


JOSEPH   VANCE  215 

far  as  to  say  that  figures  were  misleading,  and  that  if  Tredgold 
(for  instance)  had  been  a  practical  man,  he  would  have  held  the 
same  opinion.  I  soon  found  that  he  meant,  by  a  practical  man,  a 
man  who  was  ignorant  of  the  same  theoretical  points  as  himself. 
If  Porky  Owls  had  been  there  too,  I  should  have  been  crushed 
Tinder  their  united  weights.  Against  Pring  alone  I  stood  firm. 
Indeed,  Pring  was  at  best  only  a  weak-kneed  example  of  a  Porky, 
as  he  endeavoured  to  justify  his  ipse  dixit  by  argument,  which 
Porky  never  did.  Perhaps  he  himself  would  not  have  done  so  had 
he  taken  less  beer. 

When  I  referred  points  in  dispute  to  Mr.  McGaskin,  he  said 
that  "aiblins  Preeng  was  a  f ule  after  all ! "  But  in  his  heart  he 
evidently  thought  that  it  was  my  Unpractical  character. 

However,  I  was  paying  the  piper,  and  the  piper's  account  ought 
to  have  contained  such  items  as  "  To  turning  up  three  feet  of  best 
shafting  three-sixteenths  too  small  and  polishing  same  according 
to  nobody's  instructions.  Time  and  Materials  so  much,"  or  "  To 
providing  gun-metal  bearings  and  drilling  out  wrong.  Providing 
bushes  for  same,  to  correct  diam.  Time  and  Materials  so  much," 
or  "  To  arguing  with  you  during  partial  intoxication.  Foreman's 
time  at  2/  per  hour  so  much."  The  last  item  should  have  been  a 
heavy  one. 

However,  I  myself  raised.no  objection  to  McGaskin  &  Flack's 
charges,  being  deeply  absorbed  in  the  joys  of  construction ;  and  the 
months  slipped  by  rapidly,  and  would  have  become  years,  if  an 
exorbitant  statement  had  not  attracted  my  Father's  attention  and 
given  rise  to  an  incident  which  gave  me  more  insight  into  his 
success  than  I  had  ever  had  before.  For  his  curiosity  having  been 
excited  by  the  copious  totals,  he  smoked  reflectively  for  a  long 
time  over  one,  and  then  threw  it  across  his  table  to  Hickman,  the 
clerk  or  secretary  I  had  assisted  in  establishing,  and  who  had 
proved  a  most  efficient  help  for  two  years  past.  "You  run  your 
eye  through  that,  James,"  said  my  Father;  "I  don't  understand 
this  sort  o'  thing  myself."  I  did  not  catch  what  the  reply  was,  as 
I  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  but  it  was  something  my 
Father  said  "  he  thought  so  "  to. 

As  we  sat  at  dinner  that  night — for  I  continued  to  live  with 
him,  and  indeed  spent  most  of  my  evenings  at  home — he  remarked 
that  he  should  be  driving  the  two  grey  prads  round  by  my  Engi- 
neerin*  works  and  he  would  call  in  and  see  Mr.  Baxter. 

" I  know  him"  said  he — " he's  that  pink  sort  of  a  carackter  with 
no  eyelashes — what's  the  name  of  those  little  beggars  that  come 
out  o*  rat-catchers'  pockets  and  go  sniffin*  round?"  I  said  fer- 


216  JOSEPH  VANCE 

rets.  "  Well,  this  here  Baxter's  like  them.  Ever  seen  the  daugh- 
ter? "  No,  I  hadn't.  "  Well,  just  you  see  the  daughter.  Tell  >im 
to  ask  you  to  dinner." 

I  thought  it  would  be  bad  feeling  to  ask  to  be  asked  to  dinner 
to  see  a  daughter  of  a  ferret,  with  a  view,  as  I  inferred,  to  derid- 
ing her  peculiarities.  So  I  left  that  point  alone,  and  only  made  a 
slight  effort  to  get  the  Engineer  named  correctly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  FERRET  IS  BIBULOUS.  HOW  JOE  WENT  TO  PLAY  CROQUET  WITH  HIS 
DAUGHTER.  OF  HER  GLORIOUS  BEAUTY  AND  ITS  EFFECT  ON  ONE  OF 
JOE'S  INDIVIDUALITIES.  HE  TALKS  TO  A  FLAT  JANE.  OF  A  GUST  OF 
ABBOT  ANSELM,  AND  JOE'S  MEETING  WITH  AN  OLD  FOE,  WHO  IS, 
FIANCE  TO  THE  FERRET'S  DAUGHTER.  JANE  IS  SOMEBODY  TOO.  HE 
GOES  HOME  LINKED  WITH  HIS  FOE. 

NEXT  morning  the  two  grey  prads  awaited  us  at  the  door,  and 
talked  to  each  other  about  the  flies.  "  They  do  to  pull  me  about !  " 
said  my  Father,  speaking  as  a  poor  old  man  whose  sorrows  had 
to  be  pitied.  "Leave  go  of  their  heads  and  jump  up  behind." 
And  Pips,  the  groomlet,  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  we  went  off  in 
style. 

The  ferret  was  in  his  office,  and  abased  himself  before  my 
Father's  ample  presence,  his  extensive  black  cloth,  his  cashmere 
yellow  scarf  and  his  bandana  handkerchief,  but  especially  before  the 
glory  of  his  Hat,  that  sacred  Emblem  of  Perfect  Solvency,  which 
my  Father  left  on  his  head  for  Public  Worship  until  he  came  to 
anchor  in  the  Office,  when  he  showed  his  contempt  for  mere  ex- 
ternals by  putting  it  on  the  table  with  his  bandana  in  it. 

"  'Appy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Baxter,"  said  he. 
"Seen  you  afore,  I  fancy?  Job  down  at  Croydon!  Or  at  Wool- 
wich was  it — one  or  other  on  'em  \ "  These  were  the  merest  obiter 
dicta,  merely  to  make  conversation.  But  Mr.  McGaskin  was  far 
too  conscientious  a  Scotchman  to  allow  any  one  to  glisser  and 
n'appuyer  pas. 

"  I  coulolna  charge  my  memory  just  preceesely,"  said  he.  "  But 
nae  doot  ye'll  be  right." 

a  I  was  drivin'  round  in  the  trap  into  this  neighbourhood  and  I 
gave  my  son  a  lift.  'E  'azn't  got  too  proud" — here  my  Father, 
who  was  getting  very  fat,  rolled  about  as  he  subsided  into  his 
jocular  manner — "to  drive  about  with  his  pore  old  Daddy — hay, 
Nipper  ?  Not  yet  a  while  at  least." 

"It's  airly  yet,  Mr.  Vance,"  said  the  ferret.  "But  ye'll  just 
taste  a  wee  drop — ye  won't  find  better  whiskey  than  I  cam  offer 


ye." 


SS17 


218  JOSEPH  VANCE 

My  Father  threw  into  his  face  an  expression  of  repudiation  of 
whiskey,  of  disparagement  of  whiskey,  of  doubt  of  whiskey,  in 
fact  of  very  seldom  touching  it!  Then  he  tapped  himself  three 
times  in  front,  as  though  to  refer  to  his  interior  as  a  weak  point 
in  common  with  all  mankind,  and  said,  as  one  who  makes  a  con- 
cession, "  A  taste." 

I  was  sorry  for  the  turn  things  had  taken.  But  why  had  Mr. 
McGaskin  never  offered  me  whiskey  ?  I  had  been  his  visitor  often 
enough  in  the  Office.  Was  it  the  strange  free-masonry  that  alway: 
exists  between  people  who  are  not  me,  on  the  subject  of  all  con 
noisseurships — the  same  free-masonry  that  makes  real  men  wit) 
high  stiff  collars  talk  cigars  over  my  head — nay,  over  my  prostrat' 
body?  It  absolutely  never  occurred  to  Mr.  McGaskin  to  offer  m» 
any  this  time,  so  completely  was  I  outside  the  circle  of  Illuminate. 
To  be  sure,  I  anticipated  him  somewhat  by  saying  I  would  gc 
through  into  the  shops,  and  did  so,  leaving  him  and  my  Fathej 
appreciating  an  aroma  that  I  should  not  have  known  from  any 
other  nasty  smell  of  spirits. 

"  I'll  just  have  a  word  o'  chat  with  Mr.  Baxter,  and  then  little 
Pips  he'll  see  me  safe  round  to  'Aydon's  Lane  and  drive  'ome, 
and  I'll  cab  to  the  Station.  About  an  aitch  girder  they're  keeping 
us  waitin'  for,"  added  my  Father  by  way  of  explanation  to  the 
gentleman  he  persisted  in  calling  Mr.  Baxter. 

I  left  them  sympathizing  over  Goods  Stations  and  their  sins 
The  experience  of  both  was  that  Goods  Stations  absorbed  all 
consignments  into  their  systems,  never  by  any  chance  forwarding 
anything  to  its  destination. 

When  after  a  day  of  wrangling  with  Pring,  and  altering  draw- 
ings to  arrive  at  a  modus  vivendi,  I  rejoined  my  Father  in  the 
evening,  he  produced  the  statement  of  account  of  the  previous  day, 
covered  with  corrections  in  red  ink. 

"  Three  pound  six  and  four  by  corrections,  and  two-and-a-half 
per  cent,  for  cash  settlement,"  said  he.  "  You  mustn't  allow  Bax- 
ter to  'ector  over  you,  Nipper!  He's  been  charging  you  through 
the  nose  all  along.  You  send  him  round  to  me — 111  square  him 
up  'ansum ! " 

"  I  hope  he's  not  offended,"  said  I. 

"Not  he!  Pass  the  cayenne." — My  Father  pronounced  this 
word  as  if  it  consisted  of  two  letters  only. — "  This  blooming  fish 
tastes  like  the  napking — tastes  of  cold  water.  What's  to  offend 
him,  Joey  boy?  It  does  'em  good  to  docket  'em  down.  You'll  see 
he'll  ask  you  to  dinner — you'll  see  the  daughter." 

I  took  so  little  interest  in  the  daughter  of  the  ferret,  that  I 


JOSEPH  VANCE  219 

didn't  even  enquire  how  my  Father  knew  anything  about  her. 
The  invitation  to  dinner  came  sure  enough,  and  I  respected  my 
Father's  acumen  more  than  ever.  Of  course  I  accepted,  with  the 
addition,  made  when  I  saw  Mr.  McGaskin  next  morning,  that  if  I 
came  up  to  Circus  Road,  St.  John's  Wood,  earlier,  I  should  find 
tea  and  strawberries  on  the  lawn  and  a  geem  of  Crawky,  if  I  cared 
for  Crawky. 

In  the  early  sixties  Croquet  flourished — not  with  its  first  char- 
acter of  a  blinding,  maddening,  absorbing,  distracting,  ruinous 
mania,  perhaps — but  still  it  flourished  and  was  to  me  an  acceptable 
diversion.  So  I  appeared  as  bidden  at  the  ferret's  house,  which  he 
had  christened  Ronaldsay,  and  was  shown  through  a  long  green- 
house passage  with  shrubs  in  tubs;  and  eluding  the  beak  of  a 
sulphur-crested  Cockatoo  upside  down,  arrived  uninjured  in  the 
garden  and  was  welcomed  by  a  young  lady  with  the  most  beautiful 
deep  auburn  hair  I  had  ever  seen,  and  a  complexion  like  a  Titian. 
My  other-self  young  man  felt  like  being  impressionne;  but  I 
snubbed  him  abruptly,  and  felt  keenly  for  poor  Miss  McGaskin, 
to  whom  I  thought  the  contrast  would  really  be  painful.  How- 
ever, I  reflected  on  what  I  was  by  this  time  beginning  to  learn,  the 
attraction  of  contrasts,  especially  among  girls.  I  was  taken  aback 
— only  I  hope  I  didn't  show  it — when  she  presented  me  to  a  lady, 
who  came  out  from  the  drawing-room,  as  Mr.  Joseph  Vance, 
Mamma,  and  the  lady  said  she  saw  I  had  already  made  acquaint- 
ance with  Miss  McGaskin.  Different  people,  different  ways! — 
However,  she  called  her  Jeannie  when  she  spoke  to  her. 

I  suspected  my  Father  at  once.  And  my  second  self  very  nearly 
fell  into  the  trap — in  fact,  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  so  of 
Croquet  he  became  quite  restive.  He  was  inclined  to  be  jealous 
of  Tom,  Phil,  and  Mr.  Mac-something  whose  name  I  did  not 
catch,  all  of  whom  came  in  to  play  Croquet.  I  did  not  wonder  at 
him,  for  really  the  brown-gold  hair  in  the  sun  was  too  overwhelm- 
ing; unconditional  surrender  was  evidently  the  condition  of  the 
three  other  young  fellows.  But  I  had  never  felt  the  double  per- 
sonality so  strong  since  the  dreadful  week  of  half -fever  at  Oxford. 
I  am  sorry  I  have  no  less  cumbrous  way  of  writing  of  it,  as  it 
has  formed  so  great  a  part  of  my  existence.  I  might  certainly 
speak  of  myself  as  7,  and  the  other  young  man  as  Joe  Vance. 
Suppose  I  try  that  way,  and  see  how  it  works. 

I  was  so  angry  with  Joe  Vance,  then,  for  his  susceptibility  to 
this  beautiful  Jeannie,  and  indeed  so  piqued  with  poor  Jeannie 
herself  for  trying  to  plant  her  image  in  my  secret  garden  where  I 
cultivated  Lossie's,  that  I  collared  Joe,  and  compelled  him  to  talk 


220  JOSEPH  VANCE 

to  another  girl  who  was  playing,  named  Jane;  who  was,  I  thought, 
not  the  least  likely  to  provoke  any  tender  passions  on  anybody's 
part.  I  inventoried  her  in  my  mind  as  a  really  very  nice  girl  that 
I  could  be  friends  with,  and  allow  Joe  Vance  to  play  with,  with- 
out fear  of  consequences.  I  told  him  distinctly  that  I  was  not 
going  to  tolerate  any  foolery.  But  more  than  once  I  caught  his 
eye  sneaking  round  under  the  attraction  of  the  lovely  vision,  and 
had  to  call  his  attention  to  the  rather  high  forehead  and  smooth 
brown  hair  and  amiable  hazel  eyes  of  the  really  nice  girl  who 
could  be  recommended  as  innocuous  to  the  single. 

I  wonder  what  these  two  girls  would  have  really  thought  of  me 
(or  us),  if  they  had  known!  What  would  Jeannie  have  felt  for  the 
Joe  Vance  who  must  needs  presume  to  get  in  a  flutter  about  her 
beauty  almost  before  making  acquaintance?  Scarcely  respect — 
probably  silly  boy  would  have  been  the  verdict.  And  what  would 
Jane  have  thought  of  me  for  deciding  that  no  Joe  Vance  would 
fall  in  love  with  her,  at  any  rate? 

"Isn't  she  absolutely  lovely?"  said  Jane,  dropping  her  voice 
confidentially.  I  had  been  introduced  to  Jane,  by  Jeannie,  who, 
forgetting  my  name  at  the  moment,  presented  me  as  Mr.,  and  her 
as  Jane.  She  never  mentioned  her  other  name,  as  just  at  the 
moment  her  own  hair  got  tangled  in  a  wandering  briar.  Tom  or 
Phil,  being  close  by,  offered  rescue,  and  (as  I  thought  on  purpose) 
unsettled  some  tackle  that  restrained  the  masses  of  gold.  Down 
came  the  hair,  and  Jane  was  in  requisition  to  stick  it  up  again. 
She  succeeded — though  it  came  down  again  two  minutes  after. 
But  I  didn't  get  Jane's  name.  The  Croquet  proceeded. 

"Just  look  at  her  now,  with  her  face  in  the  shadow  and  the 
sun  all  through  her  hair.  I  declare  she's  croquet'd  me  to  the 
end  of  the  lawn!  It's  you  next — you  must  get  me  back  again,  or 
I  shall  never  be  through  my  hoops." 

"  It  isn't  my  turn  next,  it's "  And  I  didn't  know  the  name  of 

our  partner,  so  I  left  him  nameless. 

"Mr.  Macallister?  Oh  dear,  there  he  goes!  She's  croquet'd 
him  too."  And  so  she  had,  and  then  she  went  through  two  hoops, 
taking  her  partners  Tom  and  Phil  with  her,  and  put  them  both 
out,  and  then,  missing  the  post  herself,  in  a  paroxysm  of  excite- 
ment brought  all  the  beautiful  hair  down  again,  as  aforesaid. 
And  then  she  and  Jane  went  in  to  do  it  up  properly. 

But  a  light  had  broken  on  me !  Now  I  knew  why  Prior  Anselm 
had  mixed  himself  unbidden  in  the  croquet — he  had  been  doing  so 
all  along,  and  I  was  such  an  idiot  that  I  had  not  found  out  the 
reason. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  221 

"  You  don't  know  me,  old  chap ! "  said  I,  and  Bony  Macallister 
withdrew  his  eyes  from  a  first-floor  bedroom  looking-glass  back, 
visible  through  an  open  window,  and  turned  round  to  see  if  he 
did.  The  warmth  of  the  greeting  that  followed  was  such  as  only 
two  boys  who  had  nearly  killed  each  other  in  old  days  could  have 
compassed. 

"Why,  you're  intimate  friends  then,"  called  out  a  soft  Scotch 
accent  from  beyond  the  looking-glass,  and  I  thought  I  heard  Jane 
say  sit  quiet  or  it  would  all  come  undone  again. 

"  Well,  you  see,  we  were  once  such  intimate  enemies !"  said  Bony. 
"  Come  down  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Whereupon  Jeannie  came  down  all  curiosity,  and  Jane  along 
with  her.  And  the  Homeric  tale  was  told.  And  Jeannie  said 
that  we  were  all  old  friends  then,  and  we  needn't  be  stiff  any 
longer,  and  called  Mr.  Macallister  Archie  and  slipped  her  arm 
through  his.  And  then  naturally  another  light  broke  on  me. 
It  had  this  curious  effect,  that  I  had  no  further  trouble  with  Joe 
Vance  and  his  susceptibility  to  Jeannie's  beauty.  He  was  as 
undisguisedly  glad  as  I  was  about  her  manifest  relation  to  Bony 
Macallister.  And  Jeannie  took  upon  herself  to  perceive  that 
doubts  had  to  be  cleared  up,  and  did  it  in  this  wise — 

"Noo,  Janie,"  she  said,  with  the  very  slight  Scotch  accent — so 
slight  that  I  won't  try  to  render  it  in  spelling.  "  You  mustn't  go 
telling  Mr.  Vance  that  Archie  and  I  are  engaged,  because  we're 
not." 

"All  right,  Miss  McGaskin,"  said  I,  "I  won't  believe  Miss- 
Miss " 

"  Spencer,"  said  Jeannie. 

"  Spencer,"  said  I,  "  if  she  does  tell  me.  But  I  am  so  glad 
about  it,  old  fellow."  And  I  wrung  his  hand  again,  and  Jeannie 
gave  me  hers  to  go  on  with.  Then  we  went  back  to  the  lawn  from 
which  we  had  strayed  into  a  bye-path — and  found  the  two  youths, 
Phil  and  Tom,  having  a  game  to  themselves.  They  were  cousins 
and  evidently  adored  Jeannie,  but  not  to  the  extent  of  loss  of 
appetite  or  sleeplessness ! 

"And  noo  ye've  foond  your  way  to  the  hoose,"  said  McGaskin 
pere  when  he  returned  from  his  daily  round  of  whiskey-sips  and 
double  entry,  "ye'll  ken  it  weel  anither  time.  It's  a  wee  bit  oot 
V  the  warld,  but  ye'll  no  find  better  air,  and  ye  can  get  on  Hamp- 
stead  Heath  in  twenty  minutes." 

"It  only  took  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  drive  down,"  said 
Miss  Spencer.  But  even  then  I  didn't  put  two  and  two  together. 
I  was  always  a  slow-coach  at  this  sort  of  thing. 


222  JOSEPH  VANCE 

However,  later  in  the  evening  I  found  myself  sitting  beside 
Miss  Spencer  on  a  thing  like  an  S  in  the  back  drawing-room  while 
Jeannie  was  singing  at  the  piano  in  the  front  one. 

"  Of  course,"  said  she,  "  they  are  really  engaged,  whatever 
Jeannie  chooses  to  say.  I  wonder  Mr.  McGaskin  never  mentioned 
it." 

"  He  never  said  a  word  about  it !    Why  should  he  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  be  so  nonsensical,  Mr.  Vance  ?  Only  look  at 
Jeannie !  Do  you  suppose  all  men  are  adamant  like  you  ? " 

"I'm  not  adamant,"  said  I,  with  a  guilty  feeling  about  Joe 
Vance's  recent  attitude.  "On  the  contrary,  if  Miss  McGaskin 
had  kept  a  book  I  should  have  put  my  name  down.  I  consider 
her  quite  irresistible,  and  I'm  so  glad  about  my  old  school- 
fellow." 

"  I  wonder  Mr.  McGaskin  never  mentioned  it.  But  perhaps  he 
is  right.  I  know  he  won't  allow  Jeannie  to  be  really  engaged, 
because,  as  he  says,  she's  very  young  and  ought  to  have  a  good 
look  round  before  she  settles." 

My  dear,  good  old  Daddy!  How  vividly  I  could  now  picture 
to  myself  the  rest  of  that  interview  with  the  canny  Mr.  McGaskin 
over  their  abominable  nectar!  How  my  Father  had  heard  tell 
that  Miss  Jeannie  McGaskin  was  a  screamer,  and  hers  had  ad- 
mitted that  she  was  a  comely  lass  aneuch,  but  had  dwelt  in  Scotch 
on  the  anxiety  lassies  were  to  their  parents.  How  my  Father  had 
then  remarked  that  laddies,  or  their  English  equivalent,  were  the 
same  sort  o'  turn  out,  but  he  hoped  his  would  steady  down  to  a 
profession,  but  it  didn't  do  him  any  harm  to  look  about  a  bit. 
And  there  were  worse  wild  oats,  as  we  knew,  Mr.  McGaskin 
(with  his  jocular  roll),  than  making  inventions.  And  after  all, 
if  he  did  spend  a  trifle  it  would  all  come  off  his  own  inheritance, 
and  he  had  no  brother  or  sister — and  there  would  be  plenty.  And 
I  felt,  as  I  sat  by  Miss  Spencer  on  the  S-sofa,  that  one  or  both 
had  then  closed  one  eye  to  register  worldly  wisdom.  And  Jock  o' 
Hazeldean  came  to  an  end  in  the  next  room,  and  got  o'er  the 
border  and  awa',  and  I  heard  Archie  say,  "  Now  Young  Lochin- 
var,"  and  Jeannie  plead  for  respite.  Then  I  recalled  myself  to 
Society  and  answered  Miss  Spencer. 

"  She  evidently  has  settled,  and  she  won't  easily  do  better.  I 
haven't  seen  him  till  now  for  eight — nine — how  many  years 
past?" 

I  tried  to  think.  "Let  me  see!  How  long  ago  was  it  I  went 
to  stay  for  a  fortnight  at  Sony's  Governor's  house  in  Perthshire? 
Why,  I  remembered  telling  Lossie  I  was  going — of  course  I  did ! — 


JOSEPH  VANCE  223 

why,  of  course  it  was  when  we  had  that  talk  under  the  Pines  on 
Hampst " 

I  don't  really  think  my  thoughts  carried  me  to  the  second 
syllable.  I  saw  it  now — I  was  sitting  beside  Sarita  Spencer's 
sister,  the  little  girl  Janey.  How  I  never  came  to  see  it  before  I 
can't  imagine ! 

I  was  taken  aback — but  then  it  was  the  second  surprise  that  day, 
and  I  was  exhausted,  so  to  speak!  However,  I  didn't  see  the 
occasion  for  an  accolade,  this  time.  So  I  merely  said,  "  Well, 
now — how  very  funny ! "  And  Janey  naturally  asked  what  was 
very  funny. 

"Why,  of  course!  You're  Miss  Sarita  Spencer's  sister  Grizzle. 
I  came  up  to  your  house  to  see  Lossie  Thorpe — years  and  years 
ago — don't  you  recollect?  We  played  Pope  Joan " 

Jane  turned  a  puzzled  gaze  on  my  face,  backing  slightly  on  her 
half  of  the  S  to  make  it  good  manners  to  stare,  then  vibrated  her 
hands  with  a  sort  of  wait-a-minute  action,  then  brought  them  up 
over  her  eyes  to  think  in,  and  said,  "  Oh,  stop,  stop,  stop !  I  shall 
have  it  directly. 

"Now  I  know,"  said  she,  in  due  course,  "I  remember  it  all! 
You're  Lossie  Thorpe's  schoolboy  that  was  to  wait  till  she  came. 
In  the  Library " 

I  remembered  it  all  too.  I  remembered  the  hushed  Library — the 
smell  of  the  Books — the  song  of  the  bird — the  little  girl  in  the 
glass.  And  there  she  sate! 

"  Well,  it  is  very  funny,  isn't  it  ?  Do  tell  me  about  your  sister. 
You  know  about  Loss — I  mean  Mrs.  Desprez.  She's  in  India." 

"  I  ought  to  know  about  her !  Why,  Sarry  was  her  bridesmaid, 
and  I  was  to  have  been  one — only  I  couldn't  come  back  from 
Cheltenham.  I  thought  it  such  a  shame."  I  agreed, — and  re- 
peated my  enquiry  after  Sarry. 

"  Oh,  well — I  have  news  to  tell  you  there.  Sarry's  going  to  be 
married  herself ! " 

I  was  just  on  the  point  of  expressing  intense  surprise,  when  I 
luckily  remembered  manners,  and  began  to  say  that  I  had  ex- 
pected to  hear  that  long  ago,  and  then  remembered  that  that  would 
never  do  either.  Also  I  remembered  Sarry  had  been  a  bridesmaid 
and  I  had  not  seen  her — nor  any  other  bridesmaid — nor  any  maid 
of  any  sort  except  the  brides  for  that  matter.  I  blundered  my 
felicitations  somehow,  and  sought  particulars. 

"  She's  going  to  Ceylon !  Mrs.  Farquharson  she'll  be.  Mrs. 
Alison  Farquharson.  It  will  be  so  nice  and  near  for  Lossie  Des- 
prez." 


224  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  About  a  thousand  miles  from  Calcutta ! — quite  handy  in  case 
of  illness  or  anything " 

"  What  a  shame  to  laugh  at  me  so !  "  said  Janey,  rather  ruefully. 
And  I  apologized,  saying  I  thought  she  had  been  laughing  herself. 
We  then  embarked  on  a  good  steady  voyage  through  reminiscences. 
It's  wonderful  what  discoveries  people  who  really  have  no  very 
large  supply  in  common  will  contrive  to  make  if  they  turn  to  and 
rake  up  the  past.  It  is  so  enjoyable  to  do  so,  and  we  enjoyed 
it.  ... 

"  Well,  you  two  have  found  plenty  to  talk  about,"  said  the 
musical  voice  of  Jeannie,  "and  here's  Mamma  has  hardly  had  a 
chance  to  make  Mr.  Vance's  acquaintance.  You'll  have  to  come 
another  time  to  see  more  of  us.  Some  evening  when  Jane  Spencer 
isn't  here,  Mr.  Vance." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  then !  The  sooner  I  go  the  better,"  said  Jane, 
and  fled  for  her  "things." 

"Ye'll  feex  anither  day  for  Mr.  Vance  to  deener  when  there 
are  no  young  leddies,"  said  Mr.  McGaskin  to  his  wife.  And  I 
thought  his  pleasantry  vulgar,  whereas  I  had  thought  that  of  his 
daughter  graceful  and  charming.  See  the  difference  beauty 
makes! 

Jeannie  may  not  have  been  exactly  under  any  binding  arrange- 
ment to  marry  Bony  Macallister,  but  they  were  left  a  much 
clearer  field  to  say  good-bye  in  than  any  others  of  the  company 
had.  Public  leave-taking  was  in  the  Arcade  of  the  cockatoo;  and 
then  Bony  and  I  walked  away  down  Circus  Road  in  the  moonlight 
— will  you  believe  me? — with  our  arms  over  one  another's  shoul- 
ders, like  schoolboys.  "  And  how  do  you  like  my — my  fancy 
girl?"  said  he,  bursting  out  laughing.  My  answer  was  incon- 
secutive. 

"Oh,  Bony,  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  with  a  half -breaking  voice, 
"  she's  married  and  gone  away  to  India  with  her  husband."  And 
that  was,  so  far  as  1  can  recollect,  the  nearest  approach  to  con- 
fession about  Lossie  I  had  ever  made  to  any  human  creature.  You 
see,  after  pounding  Bony  nearly  to  a  jelly  on  the  subject,  I  felt 
concealment  would  be  mere  affectation. 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  making  him  understand  why  I  didn't 
want  to  murder  General  Desprez.  "  I  should,  in  your  place,"  said 
he.  "No — you  wouldn't,"  said  I.  "You've  no  idea  what  a 
splendid  fellow  he  is  when  you  come  to  know  him.  He's  the  most 
glorious  chap!  Besides,  it's  no  fault  of  his." 

"  I  couldn't  feel  it  so  myself,  Vance,"  said  Bony.  And  Vance 
No.  2,  in  my  inner  citadel,  who  had  quite  given  Jeannie  up  and 


JOSEPH  VANCE  225 

was  rather  sorry  he  had  been  such  an  ass,  murmured,  "No  more 
could  I." 

I  believe  a  suspicion,  on  Bony's  part,  that  it  was  cruel  to  parade 
his  own  happiness,  had  more  to  do  with  our  parting  as  early  as 
2  A.  M.  than  any  desire  of  either  to  get  home  to  bed.  It  was  about 
then  or  a  little  later  that  we  said  good-bye  on  Waterloo  Bridge,  he 
going  north,  I  south.  His  last  communication  referred  to  his 
Mother,  who  it  seemed  hated  Jeannie,  and  who  always  blew  up 
about  his  coming  in  late  when  she  knew  he  had  been  at  Circus 
Road.  "  Hope  I  shan't  wake  her  up,"  said  he.  "  Good-night,  old 
fellow!" 

I  walked  home  in  the  moonlight,  and  thought  as  my  latch-key 
turned  in  the- door  that  /  should  not  wake  my  Mother. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

HOW  JOE^S  FATHER  HAD  BEEN  MATCHMAKING,  AND  HOW  HE  EXCEEDED 
HIS  ALLOWANCE.  HOW  GOOD  A  DAUGHTER-IN-LAW  WOULD  BE  FOR 
HIM.  JOE  IS  NOT  IN  LOVE  WITH  THE  FLAT  JANE.  HOW  HE  WROTE 
WHO  SHE  WAS  TO  LOSSIE;  A  FOOLISH  LETTER.  OF  THE  SPHERICAL 
ENGINE.  HOW  HE  MET  FLAT  JANE  AGAIN  AT  THE  FERRET'S.  AND 
GOT  DANGEROUSLY  CONFIDENTIAL. 

I  WAS  very  late  next  morning,  naturally,  and  my  Father  was 
going  round  to  the  Works  in  a  hurry,  so  I  had  no  talk  with  him 
until  the  evening  at  dinner. 

"  You  ain't  tellin'  me  about  the  'ansum  gal,  Nipper  dear,"  said 
he.  "  You  might  tell  your  old  Daddy  somethin'  about  your  goin's- 
on." 

"How  did  you  come  to  know  about  Miss  McGaskin,  Dad?"  I 
asked. 

"Let  me  see — how  did  I  come  to  know  about  her?  It  must 
have  been  when  I  was  talking  to  what's-his-name — at  the  Foundry 
— churchyard  sort  of  a  name." 

"Paul?"  I  conjectured.    And  I  think  the  guess  did  me  credit. 

"Right  you  are,  Nipper!  Well,  it  was  his  Aunt  or  Step- 
mother-in-law,  old  Goody  Scratchett,  was  turnin'  over  young  gals 
at  ch'ice  like  for  her  nephew,  and  out  she  lets  about  a  very  en- 
gagin'  young  lass — a  regular  plummy  one  to  make  your  mouth 
water.  And  it  don't  foller,  says  she,  that  a  girl  is  pimply  because 
her  father  is,  nor  yet  one  tooth  a-stickin'  out  in  front.  And  then 
young  Churchyard  he  says  of  course  everybody  knows  Jeannie 
McGaskin — but  she's  engaged!  And  the  old  Goody  she  says 
Walker,  and  engagements  don't  count " 

"Were  they  talking  like  that  in  Ratchett  &  Paul's  office  in 
business  hours  ? "  said  I.  "  There  can't  be  much  doing  there." 

"Well — you  see,  the  old  cat  happened  in.  And  it  was  me  set 
'em  all  off  by  remarking  that  I  didn't  put  much  cash  on  any  young 
man  if  he  hadn't  got  a  gurl.  So  we  had  it  all  round  up  and  down. 
What's  this  here  young  beauty  like  to  look  at  ? " 

I  hope  I  did  Jeannie  justice.  I  tried  to.  And  my  Father  mur- 
mured occasionally  that  was  my  sort! 

226 


JOSEPH  VANCE  227 

"But  she  is  engaged,  Dad — and  really  engaged." 

"  Quite  sure,  Joey  boy  ?  She  ain't  married  yet,  anyhow !  And 
gals  are  gals."  My  Father  had  got  such  a  fixed  idea  (on  no 
grounds  whatever)  of  the  desirability  of  Jeannie  for  his  son,  that 
it  was  cruel  not  to  let  him  indulge  it.  But  he  remembered,  when 
I  told  him,  about  Macallister,  and  the  great  turn-up,  and  appeared 
to  consider  that  that  altered  the  case.  Nevertheless,  he  showed 
that  his  dear  affectionate  heart  had  built  a  little  castle  in  the  air 
for  his  son,  in  so  short  a  time  that  he  ought  to  have  known  as  a 
professional  man  that  it  wouldn't  stand  after  removing  the  scaf- 
fold. He  seemed  distinctly  dejected,  and  exceeded  his  allowance 
of  whiskey.  But  then  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  often  did  this,  and  the 
limit  laid  down  was  a  mere  tribute  to  Temperance  en  passant.  As 
in  the  case  of  crops  that  are  always  below  the  average,  statistics 
had  lost  caste  and  gone  mouldy.  Still,  I  used  to  try  to  hold  him 
to  the  fiction  of  an  allowance.  It  had  had  its  origin  when  Los- 
sie's  letter  came  from  India  in  answer  to  mine,  shortly  after  her 
departure.  "Miss  Lossie's  quite  right,  Joey  boy,"  said  he. 
"  We'll  make  it  an  allowance  and  stick  to  it."  He  called  her  Miss 
Lossie  to  the  day  of  his  death. 

What  was  so  painful  about  this  whiskey  bane,  and  my  Father's 
constant  effort  to  keep  it  under,  was  that  at  the  end  of  every  year 
he  was  visibly  a  very  little  worse  than  at  the  beginning,  in  spite 
of  his  having  turned  over  a  new  leaf  every  six  weeks  or  so.  How- 
ever trenchant  and  decisive  these  reformations  were,  it  seemed  to 
come  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end.  It  reminded  me  of  the  dread- 
ful year  preceding  my  Mother's  death,  when,  however  many  times 
her  cough  was  better  than  yesterday,  it  was  always  a  little  worse 
than  last  month.  And  however  much  she  gained  flesh,  she  always 
grew  thinner.  I  wondered  in  my  heart  at  the  influence  Lossie 
had  exercised — for  from  the  day  she  wrote  that  letter  about  him  to 
Sarita,  till  the  champagne  incident  at  her  wedding,  he  had  hardly 
sinned  at  all.  And  even  now  it  was  chiefly  her  influence  by  letter 
from  India  that  produced  these  spasmodic  reformations. 

I  communed  with  myself  a  good  deal  (I  discussed  it  with  Joe 
Vance,  so  to  speak)  whether  if  I  were  married  it  would  not  act 
as  a  check  on  this  propensity  of  my  Father.  Was  it  not  possible 
that  the  great  strength  of  Lossie's  influence  lay  in  the  fact  of  her 
being  a  woman,  and  was  it  certain  another  inferior  woman  (that 
is,  another  woman)  would  not  do  as  well,  or  proportionately  so? 
Joe  Vance  became  a  convert  to  this  view,  and  pointed  out  to  me 
that  his  trifling  outbreak  of  susceptibility  to  Miss  McGaskin 
showed  at  least  that  the  question  was  still  open.  "  Can't  you  look 


328  JOSEPH  VANCE 

about  you,  you  booby,"  said  he,  "  for  some  girl  who  will  do  equally 
well  for  me  ? "  And  he  proceeded  to  give  specifications.  I  noticed 
that  he  stipulated  for  a  head  of  auburn  hair,  item  two  eyes  a  shade 
green,  item  two  rows  perfect  teeth,  item  two  white  arms  with 
ditto  hands,  filbert  nails  on  same,  item  several  other  items  circa 
sixty-seven  inches  long  all  told.  And  I  replied  to  him,  "You 
vulgar-minded  blockhead,  can't  you  see  that  you  are  not  includ- 
ing either  a  heart  or  a  mind  in  your  specification,  and  if  this  Mrs. 
V.  of  yours  has  either  it  will  be  a  gross  unfaith  to  go  on  nursing 
my  memory  of  Lossie,  making  disparaging  comparisons,  treating 
her  in  short  as  just  a  convenient  helpmeet — a  sop  to  the  mechan- 
ical demands  of  life.  While  if  she  has  neither,  what  good  will 
she  be  as  a  whiskey  check  ? "  "  Well,  then,"  said  Joe,  "  can't  you 
make  a  compromise?  There  are  other  sympathetic  ties  than  those 
of  the  heart.  Be  content  with  a  mind  only,  and  only  give  a  mind 
in  return.  Find  a  pleasant  reasonable  sensible  companion — she 
and  I  shall  get  very  fond  of  one  another  in  time  without  being 
ever  exactly  in  love;  and  she  will  exercise  a  most  beneficent  in- 
fluence in  the  home  circle,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

Had  I  known  all  I  know  now  about  men  and  women  I  should 
have  replied :  "  Blasphemer !  How  dare  you  suggest  a  profanation 
of  the  sacred  name  of  Love?  Do  you  not  know  that  none  can 
tamper  safely  with  a  plant  whose  roots  are  in  the  very  depths  of 
Nature,  whose  branches  may  shoot  up  into  the  highest  Heaven! 
Shut  up,  short-sighted  idiot!  Either  be  silent,  or  if  you  insist 
on  boring  me  with  the  suggestions  of  your  own  inexperience,  don't 
say  what  I  know  you  have  in  contemplation,  that  I  should  do  well 
to  offer  civility  and  friendship,  coupled  with  the  cares  of  a  house- 
hold and  possible  children,  to  that  very  nice  and  amiable  and 
sensible  girl  whom  you  positively  refused  to  kiss  on  any  terms, 
when  neither  she  nor  I  had  asked  you  to  do  so." 

However,  I  was  very  inexperienced  myself,  rather  childish  in 
some  ways ;  so  I  let  him  run  on,  and  he  did  in  point  of  fact  make 
me  an  offer  of  Jane  Spencer  then  and  there,  taking  for  granted 
in  the  most  impertinent  way  that  she  would  be  quite  ready  to 
order  her  trousseau. 

"  I  say,  Joe,"  said  I,  "  you're  not  letting  her  have  her  voice  in 
the  matter."— "  Are  you?"  said  he. 

I  wasn't  hypocrite  enough  to  make  out  that  I  was  quite  un- 
concerned about  meeting  Jane  Spencer  again,  but  I  wasn't  alto- 
gether honest  about  it  either.  For  I  admitted  that  I  shouldn't 
mind  having  another  look  at  her  on  high  public  grounds,  such  as 


JOSEPH  VANCE  229 

the  possible  benefit  of  my  Father  if  I  made  a  reasonable  and  pru- 
dent marriage,  or  the  injustice  of  not  letting  her  have  another 
look  at  me  if  she  wanted  one.  That  she  did  so  was  an  entirely 
gratuitous  supposition  on  my  part — merely  the  result  of  too  much 
self-examination.  I  chose  to  shut  my  eyes  tight  to  what  may  have 
been  the  real  cause  of  there  being  any  self-examination  at  all,  the 
fact  that  when  Jeannie  broke  up  the  S-sofa  seance,  I  felt  I  could 
easily  have  borne  another  quarter  of  an  hour.  My  vanity  of 
course  suggested  that  Jane  also  felt  a  little  nipped  in  the  bud.  I 
think  what  the  Chinese  call  the  Feng-Shui  of  the  sofa-back  had  a 
good  deal  to  answer  for.  I  have  since  then  learned  that  if  you 
want  a  young  lady  and  gentleman  not  to  think  about  each  other, 
you  will  do  well  not  to  remark  that  both  their  names  begin  with 
the  same  letter,  or  that  both  their  heads  want  brushing,  or  that 
both  are  standing  on  the  same  paving-stone.  It  is  safer  on  the 
whole  never  to  say  both  or  neither  to  them.  Now  if  an  S-sofa 
could  speak  it  would  certainly  say  something  beginning  with  one 
or  other  of  these  words.  All  the  same,  had  I  fallen  out  with  Mr. 
McGaskin  over  the  Spherical  Engine,  and  never  met  Jane  at  his 
house  again,  I  shouldn't  have  given  her  another  thought.  And  if 
I  had  seen  her  death  in  the  papers  I  shouldn't  have  felt  called  on 
to  fret  about  it.  Am  I  wrong  in  supposing  that  young  men  are 
very  often  ready  to  feel  navres  when  they  hear  of  the  engagement 
elsewhere  of  girls  whose  death  would  scarcely  move  them? 

As  it  turned  out,  every  day  that  passed  made  me  less  sensible 
of  the  advantages  of  a  prudent  marriage,  and  in  about  a  week  I 
had  decided  that  I  wouldn't  examine  myself  any  more  until  I 
heard  from  Lossie  in  answer  to  a  long  letter  I  wrote  her  asking  her 
advice.  It  contained  a  full  and  true  confession  of  all  my  alarms 
and  excursions  on  first  seeing  Jeannie,  on  which  I  laid  a  great 
deal  of  stress  in  order  that  Lossie  should  not  fidget  about  having 
made  me  unhappy — supposing  that  she  ever  did  so.  I  finished 
with  the  interview  with  Jane  Spencer.  I  really  think  that  my 
broad  and  bold  exaggeration  gave  as  good  a  version  of  the  facts 
as  all  the  rhodomontade  I  have  been  inflicting  on  somebody  un- 
known. "  You've  no  idea,"  I  wrote,  "  what  an  extremely  beautiful 
girl  Miss  McG.  turned  out  to  be  in  spite  of  her  papa!  And  so 
jolly !  I  was  literally  head  over  ears  in  love  " — and  then  followed 
an  account  of  my  recognition  of  Bony,  and  then  how  "I  had  to 
give  her  up  and  wear  the  willow,  and  who  do  you  suppose  I  con- 
soled myself  with?  Why,  Grizzle!  !  !  We  got  stuck  on  a  sofa, 
and  talked  all  the  evening.  She's  not  half  bad,  considering ! "  I 
then  went  on,  after  more  particulars  of  my  recognition  of  Grizzle, 


230  JOSEPH   VANCE 

to  ask  Lossie  whether  she  thought  it  was  really  necessary  to 
married  happiness  to  be  romantically  in  love  at  first  go-off.  I 
never  saw  that  this  was  the  last  question  I  ought  to  have 
asked ! 

All  letter-writing  takes  a  very  early  answer  for  granted.  If  the 
writer  were  always  stopping  to  think  how  long  he  would  have  to 
pause  for  a  reply,  there  would  be  an  end  of  all  free  intercourse 
by  post.  I  wrote  to  Lossie  and  resolved  to  be  guided  by  her  ad- 
vice. But  it  was  over  three  months  before  her  reply  came.  And 
in  the  meanwhile  events  travelled  rapidly,  second  class.  By  this 
I  mean  that  their  journey  was  a  sort  of  respectable  middle-class 
business,  not  the  triumphal  progress  of  well-to-do  occurrences  such 
as  belong  to  a  perfectly  whole-hearted  courtship.  How  fast  they 
travelled  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  when  Pheener 
brought  Lossie's  letter  with  others  into  the  sitting-room  at  my 
Father's,  she  thought  it  considerate  to  knock.  And  indeed  it  was 
perfectly  true  that  I  withdrew  to  the  other  end  of  the  sofa  on 
which  Jane  Spencer  and  I  were  sitting,  to  call  out  "  Come  in ! " 
If  this  were  a  real  story  for  publication,  this  way  of  telling  it 
would  spoil  it.  But  I  am  so  ashamed  of  the  confession  I  have  to 
make,  that  I  don't  much  care  how  I  make  it. 

For,  you  see,  I  "got  engaged"  to  Jane  Spencer  without  really 
caring  much  about  her.  I  cared  something  for  her  of  course.  I 
cared  enough  for  her  to  be  very  much  concerned  about  her  future 
happiness;  to  swear  to  myself  again  and  again  that  come  what 
might  no  power  should  ever  wring  from  me  an  admission  of — of 
something  about  my  own  feelings  towards  poor  Jane  that  I  did 
not  care  to  think  aloud  about.  Besides,  it  would  have  been  just 
the  same  about  any  other  girl!  Even  if  it  had  been  Jeannie 
McGaskin,  I  added — And  oh  me!  I  never  saw,  in  that  word 
"even,"  the  revelation  it  conveyed  of  the  degree  of  my  injustice  to 
Jane  Spencer. 

After  posting  my  letter  to  Lossie  I  fairly  forgot  all  about 
Jeannie  and  Janey,  all  about  my  Father's  whiskey  peril,  all  about 
everything,  in  short,  except  the  fascinations  of  the  reciprocating 
movement  that  was  just  going  to  reciprocate,  and  the  cumulative 
energy  that  was  just  going  to  be  developed.  As  the  Engine  ap- 
proached completion,  Pring  began  casting  about  for  a  new  Plat- 
form from  which  he  might  proclaim  to  the  Universe  the  large 
share  he  had  had  in  its  inauguration,  the  care  and  watchfulness 
with  which  he  had  averted  disaster  during  its  construction,  and 
the  gracious  influence  he  proposed  to  exercise  on  its  maturity. 


JOSEPH   VANCE  231 

"  I'm  going  to  see  this  job  safe  through,"  said  he.  "  Had  my  eye 
on  it  ever  since  we  first  got  the  idear,  and  I  ain't  the  man  to  take 
it  off  now."  He  laid  claim  to  having  suggested  a  course  of  in- 
vention to  my  inexperience,  and  nourished  originality  in  the  soil 
of  an  infant  mind  which  but  for  his  care  would  have  lain  fallow. 

The  construction  of  the  Spherical  Engine  may  be  said  to  have 
gone  smoothly.  It  might  have  gone  even  smoother,  if  it  had  not 
been  blocked  by  resolute  opposition  on  Pring's  part,  and  thwarted 
by  his  dexterous  evasions.  Tireless  effort  and  unflinching  single- 
ness of  purpose  on  my  side  were  victorious  in  the  end;  and  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  belief  in  his  own  fallibility  was  produced  in 
Pring's  mind,  when  the  steam  was  put  on,  and,  after  a  snort  of 
doubt  about  its  own  efficacy,  followed  by  an  unwarrantable  buoy- 
ancy, the  great  machine  began  to  reciprocate,  just  at  the  moment 
when  Pring  uttered  his  last  prediction  of  unqualified  disaster. 
He  showed  himself  a  true  disciple  of  Porky  Owls  at  this  point,  for 
he  retracted  nothing,  and  showed  a  tendency  to  denounce  success 
as  merely  a  form  of  failure.  "  It's  f ollerin'  on  what  you  might 
expect,"  said  he,  vaguely.  "  But  it  don't  do  to  drore  any  con- 
clusions on  that.  Results  are  what  we  go  by."  Pring  thus 
reserved  for  himself  an  indefinite  future,  in  which  he  might  settle 
down  comfortably  and  await  the  fulfilment  of  his  prophecies. 

The  Engine  became  so  violently  excited  owing  to  its  not  being 
yet  fitted  with  a  governor  that  it  had  to  be  stopped.  Congratula- 
tions followed,  subject  to  reserves,  and  then  Mr.  McGaskin  asked 
the  inventor  to  dinner.  "  And  that  ye  maunna  be  dool,  Mr. 
Vance,"  said  he,  "Jeannie  shall  ask  a  lassie  for  ye.  I  canna 
promise  ye  Miss  Spencer.  But  there's  aye  a  gude  collection  roond 
aboot,  and  she'll  do  ye  justice."  Could  I  in  decency  say  less  than 
that  I  hoped  Miss  Spencer  would  be  achieved.  I  then  concealed 
from  myself  the  fact  that  I  did  so  hope,  lukewarmly,  by  remark- 
ing that  she  was  quite  an  old  friend.  It  brought  a  Platonic  chill 
in,  and  I  felt  safer  from  misconception. 

"I  had  such  a  fright,  Mr.  Vance,"  said  Jeannie,  whose  accent 
I  continue  to  fight  shy  of  spelling — it  was  so  very  silvery  and 
tender.  "We  thought  we  shouldn't  get  Janey  Spencer!  But  I 
made  Archie  go  up  to  Hampstead  and  tell  her  you  were  coming 
and  come  she  must.  There  she  is ! "  But  it  wasn't  Janey.  It 
was  Archie  back  without  her.  He  had  left  a  note,  in  the  hope  that 
at  any  rate  she  would  come  after  dinner. 

Seven  was  dinner-time  in  the  sixties;  at  Circus  Road  at  least. 
And  at  half -past  seven  Mr.  McGaskin  thought  it  was  time  to  stop 
waiting  any  longer.  "Ye'll  have  to  geeve  her  up,  Jeannie,"  said 


232  JOSEPH   VANCE 

he — and  the  family,  Archie  and  myself,  and  two  casuals  all  gave 
her  up.  Joe  No.  2  accused  me  of  being  disappointed  ;  and  I 
denied  it.  But  just  as  we  prepared  to  go,  wheels  stopped  at  the 

gate  and  Jeannie  said,  "There  now!  there  she  is  after  all " 

This  was  correct;  and  a  pause  was  conceded,  to  allow  of  showing 
into  the  drawing-room  and  starting  fair. 

I  had  been  a  little  afraid  that  Janey  might  prove  dowdy  on 
re -inspection,  and  felt  distinctly  better  when,  on  coming  into  the 
room  at  the  fag-end  of  a  turmoil  of  recent  haste,  slightly  flushed 
and  explaining  that  she  would  have  been  earlier  only  she  wasn't 
able  to  find  her  corals,  she  really  did  look  quite  nice — almost 
pretty.  Joe  Vance  No.  2  expressed  so  much  satisfaction  at  this, 
that  I  was  fain  to  remind  him  that  neither  his  opinion  nor  mine 
had  been  asked  for. 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Vance  again  ? "  said  Janey.  "  I'm  afraid  we  used 
up  all  our  reminiscences  last  time.  We  shall  have  to  talk  about 
the  Royal  Academy." — In  those  days  people  used  to  do  so,  even 
after  the  Exhibition  was  over,  as  was  the  case  now.  For  we  had 
got  well  on  towards  Christmas. 

Jeannie  said  she  was  sick  and  tired  of  Archie,  and  was  going  to 
have  me  for  a  change,  and  took  me  down  to  dinner  accordingly. 
Archie  took  down  the  she-casual,  and  Miss  Spencer  our  host. 
The  he-casual  and  Mrs.  McGaskin  might  have  been  forgotten  and 
left  upstairs,  for  any  interest  felt  in  either  by  the  rest  of  the 
company.  But  they  showed  independence  of  character  and  came 
downstairs  together  on  their  own  account. 

As  all  hosts  know  but  too  well,  four  males  and  four  females 
cannot  sit  alternately  at  table  with  the  host  and  hostess  at  each 
end.  As  soon  as,  after  the  usual  wrangle,  we  submitted  to  Jeannie 
sitting  next  to  her  mother  and  Archie  next  to  the  he-casual,  I 
found  myself  between  Jeannie  and  Janey  and  quite  unable  to 
see  either  without  looking  round.  I  made  some  remark  about  the 
great  advantages  a  parrot  would  have  in  this  respect.  "  Only  he 
wouldn't  be  able  to  use  his  knife  and  fork,"  said  Jeannie.  And 
then  that  wicked  young  minx  went  on  to  improve  the  occasion. 

"  I  tell  you  what  would  be  a  lot  better,"  said  she.  "  Have  a 
long  S-sofa  and  a  table  on  each  side.  I  mean  a  sofa  like  Janey 
and  Mr.  Vance's  sofa  upstairs." 

"  Oh,  how  kind  you  are,  Jeannie  dear/'  said  Janey.  "  Do  you 
hear  that,  Mr.  Vance?  That's  our  sofa — Jeannie's  made  us  a 
present  of  it."  I  was  very  glad  of  the  promptitude  of  this  piece 
of  intrepidity,  as  if  a  murmur  of  remonstrance  from  Mrs.  Grundy 
had  come  off  it  would  have  been  embarrassing.  As  it  was,  laugh- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  233 

ter  prevented  my  catching  the  exact  drift  of  some  further  chaff  of 
Jeannie's,  but  it  turned  on  there  being  another  similar  sofa  up- 
stairs with  "  the  wiggle  "  the  other  way  round.  "  You  look  a  deal 
better  on  this  side,"  said  the  incorrigible  one,  in  an  undertone 
across  me.  And  if  you  work  out  the  problem  you  will  find  that  a 
true  S-sofa  shows  its  occupants'  right-hand  sides  to  each  other,  and 
that  I  was  now  on  Janey's  left.  Of  course  I  looked  round,  to 
confirm  or  contradict,  and  found  Jane  had  no  mark  visible  this 
way  round.  Instantly  Jeannie  pounced  on  me  with  "  There,  you 
see,  Mr.  Vance  thinks  so  too ! " 

It's  wonderful  what  latitude  is  allowed  to  a  spoiled  beauty. 
Nobody  checked  Miss  McGaskin's  flow  of  high  spirits  at  the  mo- 
ment, though  I  think  her  Mother  remonstrated  afterwards.  In 
fact,  Bony  told  me  some  time  later  that  Jeannie  got  an  awful 
wigging  about  it,  but  defended  herself  on  the  score  of  my  having 
introduced  personality  by  my  innocent  remark  about  the  Parrot. 
And,  later  still,  revealed  that  Jeannie  had  admitted  that  her  object 
had  been  "just  to  bring  them  together,  and  give  them  a  start." 
She  certainly  was  the  most  nefarious  young  woman  I  have  ever 
known,  before  or  since.  Short  of  insulating  Miss  Spencer  and 
myself,  and  pointing  at  us,  she  did  everything  that  could  be  done 
to  make  us  feel  uncomfortable.  The  truth  was  her  inartificial 
nature  disqualified  her  for  matchmaking.  She  was  far  too  frank 
and  direct.  When  you  wish  to  develop  a  flirtation  rapidly,  you 
will  do  unwisely  to  segregate  your  two  quarries  from  the  rest 
of  the  company  and  then  go  a  little  way  off  yourself  and  count  ten. 
This  was  apparently  the  school  Jeannie  had  been  brought  up  in, 
and  she  was  a  novice.  In  these  matters  delicacy  is  half  the  battle. 
The  result  was  that  there  was  a  stiffness,  and  a  tendency  to  mix 
in  circles  as  far  apart  as  possible. 

But  when  circles  are  at  most  a  room's  length  apart,  stiffnesses 
are  apt  to  die  a  natural  death.  This  one  came  to  an  end  owing 
to  its  subjects,  victims,  or  proprietors  (who  were,  I  suppose,  seek- 
ing other  circles  to  mix  in)  happening  across  each  other  just  be- 
hind the  second  S-sofa  with  the  wiggle  the  other  way.  I  caught 
Janey's  eyes,  and  we  both  burst  out  laughing.  The  position 
was  too  ridiculous,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  try  this 
one. 

"You  know  we're  to  have  whichever  we  like  best,  Mr.  Vance/' 
said  my  companion.  Of  course  she  was  a  good  deal  more  self- 
possessed  over  this  little  incident  than  I  was.  "You  mustn't 
mind  Jeannie's  chaff,  Mr.  Vance.  After  all,  she's  little  more  than 
a  child — only  eighteen  when  all's  said  and  done !  " 


234  JOSEPH   VANCE 

"  I  thought  you  were  about  the  same  age." 

"  Oh  dear,  no !  years  older.  You  can  guess  my  age  from 
Sarita's." 

"  I  know.  You're  seven  years  younger  than  she  is.  You  always 
were.  So  you're  six  years  younger  than  Mrs.  Desprez.  You're 
exactly  my  age " 

"  It's  quite  a  coincidence.  But  then  I  was  your  age  when  you 
came  to  Hampstead  all  that  long  time  ago,  and  I  must  have  kept 
so  all  along." 

"  It  was  compulsory  on  both.    I  say,  Miss  Spencer !  " 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Vance? " 

"I  should  like  to  come  and  see  you  in  the  Library  again.  It 
would  be  so  funny !  Just  think  what  a  long  time  it  is !  " 

"Do  come.  Papa  would  be  so  glad  to  see  you.  Mr.  Oliver 
Thorpe  is  in  Papa's  Office — you  know,  of  course! — and  we'll  ask 
him  to  come  too.  I'll  send  you  a  note.  Have  you  any  particular 
days  you  are  engaged  ? " 

No,  I  hadn't.  So  that  was  all  plain  sailing.  "  And  now,"  said 
Miss  Spencer,  "  we  can  go  and  talk  about  the  Academy.  How 
flat  you  look,  Mr.  Vance!  What's  that  for?" 

Joe  No.  2  muttered  under  his  breath  that  this  girl  was  a  sharp 
girl.  I  told  him  I  found  her  nice  and  bracing,  and  that  I  should 
take  a  leaf  out  of  her  book  and  say  exactly  what  I  thought.  He 
might  shut  up. 

"Because  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  the  Koyal  Academy.  I 
want  to  go  on  where  we  left  off." 

"Where  did  we  leave  off?  Oh,  at  exactly  the  same  age! — 
Jeannie  isn't  there,  is  she  ? " 

"  Oh  no !     She's  a  mile  off.    Never  mind  Jeannie !  " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that !  However,  of  course  she  does  twist 
things  round  to  stuff  and  nonsense.  No !  I  meant  that  I  was  old 
enough  to  be  Jeannie's  mother,  nearly ! " 

"  Another  ten  years  would  do  it.  Just  about  as  long  as  from 
when  I  saw  you  in  the  Library  at  Hampstead " 

"It  seems  a  lifetime — of  course,  it  has  been  half  of  mine — 
and  yours."  I  liked  those  hazel  eyes  when  they  looked  grave 
over  the  lapse  of  time.  "  Shall  we  have  another  fifteen,  I  won- 
der?" 

I  wondered.  Then  Jane  Spencer  kept  on  looking  grave,  and  I 
began  to  be  afraid  our  conversation  was  going  to  spoil — they  are 
sensitive  things,  conversations!  But  it  didn't,  for  my  companion 
suddenly  brought  together  the  dispersing  rivulets  of  chat,  and 
made  them  flow  in  a  steady  stream. 


JOSEPH   VANCE  235 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  should  like  ?  Only  you  mustn't  think 
nay  inquisitiveness " 

" Of  course  I  won't!    What  is  it? " 

"I  should  like  if  you  would  tell  me  something  about  all  those 
ten  years." 

Neither  I  nor  Joe  No.  2  could  object  to  this,  for  we  were  both 
human,  and  liked  talking  about  ourselves.  So  I  told  about  St. 
Withold,  and  about  Balliol,  all  in  a  very  bald  way,  till  I  came  to 
recent  things,  and  then  I  found  my  narrative  lingering  for  no 
particular  reason  over  the  reading  party  in  Devonshire.  "Isn't 
Lynmouth  a  very  dangerous  bathing  coast  ? "  said  Miss  Spencer.  I 
replied  that  it  was  "  not  worse  than  others.  One  of  us  was  nearly 
drowned  though." — I  forgot  that  I  was  nearly  drowned  myself  as 
well  as  Master  Joey.  I  saw  the  hazel  eyes,  which  were  very  ex- 
pressive (I  began  to  notice),  fixed  on  me  with  an  added  interest, 
which  I  misinterpreted. 

"I  know,  Miss  Spencer,  you  think  I'm  sticking  over  all  this 
because  I'm  ashamed  to  tell  you  what  a  bad  place  I  took  in 

Honours "  She  made  no  reply,  but  left  her  eyes  considering 

me,  while  her  fingers  did  and  undid  some  clasp  or  buckle  at  her 
waist.  I  went  on: 

"  Of  course  I  was  bound  to  do  well  in  Science  because  that's  my 
line,  but  in  Classics  I  didn't  come  up  to  what  was  expected  of  me." 

"  You  pulled  him  out  of  the  water,"  said  Janey,  with  sudden 
inconsecutiveness. 

"  Who  ?  Little  Joey.  Oh  yes !  I  was  lucky  and  got  hold  of  him. 
But  we  all  dived.  Carvalho  dived  three  times.  Who  told  you 
about  that  turn-out  ? " 

"  Why,  his  brother  of  course !  He  often  comes  to  spend  the 
evening  at  Hampstead.  He  said  you  were  nearly  drowned.  I  had 
forgotten  it  till  you  reminded  me." 

"And  I  had  forgotten  all  about  Nolly.  Of  course  you  know 
him  quite  well.  I'm  such  a  slow  coach.  But  what  was  I  saying? 
Oh,  about  the  Degree !  You  know  I  was  awfully  cut  up  about  it — 
because  Loss — that's  Mrs.  Desprez,  you  know — had  set  her  heart 
on  my  doing  well." 

"  You  and  she  have  always  been " 

"Yes.  Since  I  was  eight.  But  I  don't  know  that  brother  and 
sister  describes  it.  Because  brothers  are — brothers  are " 

"  I  know,  Mr.  Vance,  of  course  they  are  I  I've  no  patience  with 
brothers.  But  I  never  said  brothers.  What  I  was  going  to  say 
was  that  her  going  away  to  India  must  have  been  a  great  blow 
to  her  friends." 


236  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"It  was  a  great  blow  to  me,"  said  I. 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Mc- 
Gaskin  bringing  me  the  he-casual  for  special  communion.  He 
had  (I  think)  invented  a  corkscrew,  and  was  certain  I  should  be 
interested  in  it.  I  wanted  to  say  "  Devil  take  your  corkscrew  I " 
but  only  thought  it.  To  the  outside  world  I  hope  I  appeared  ready 
to  cherish  that  corkscrew  as  the  apple  of  my  eye. 

"  I'll  send  you  the  note,"  said  Jane  Spencer. 

But  even  as  I  execrated  that  corkscrew  I  was  also  inclined  to 
quarrel  with  myself  for  not  having  patience  to  wait  until  Janey 
should  ask  me  naturally  to  her  father's,  of  her  own  accord.  She 
would  have  done  so,  and  would  have  remained  perfectly  cool  and 
detached;  quite  free  from  any  responsibility;  while  I,  as  I  walked 
home  from  Eonaldsay,  was  feeling  that  I  had  made  a  plunge — had 
implied  an  initiative  from  which  I  could  not  in  honour  retreat. 

If  I  had  not  had  any  attraction  at  all  towards  Janey  I  could 
have  asked  myself  to  Mr.  Spencer's,  and  felt  that  nothing  was 
involved.  It  was  "because  I  felt  a  certain  lukewarm  entitlement 
(was  it  so  lukewarm,  though? — consider  that  corkscrew)  that  I 
regarded  my  action  as  a  pledge.  If  I  had  understood  girls  better 
— been  more  of  a  man  of  the  world,  as  the  phrase  is — I  should 
have  looked  at  the  matter  quite  differently.  Is  no  halfway  house 
between  an  Egotist  and  a  Man-about-Town  possible  to  the  un- 
married mind? 

I  felt  all  the  while  that  I  was  doing  wrong,  to  Janey  at  any 
rate,  perhaps  to  myself,  in  cultivating  what  I  believed  then  would 
always  be  a  half-hearted  attachment,  in  order  that  the  sacred  cult 
of  Lossie  in  my  innermost  heart  should  not  be  tampered  with. 
If  I  could  have  believed  that  such  a  feeble  seedling  of  a  passion 
could  strike  root  and  spread  and  gradually  oust  all  other  vegeta- 
tion, I  should  not  have  been  so  wrong.  But  the  feeble  seedling 
was  to  be  allowed  only  a  humble  corner  of  the  garden,  in  order 
that  my  great  rose-tree  in  the  centre  should  flourish  undisturbed. 
And  I  had  the  hypocrisy  to  utilize  my  wishes  for  my  Father's 
benefit,  as  a  justification  of  what  I  knew  must  be  a  wrong  to  the 
person  by  whom  that  benefit  was  to  be  brought  about. 

I  had  no  doubt  that  all  I  claimed  of  marriage  would  be  pro- 
vided, and  I  called  it  by  a  variety  of  plausible  names — sympathetic 
companionship  in  all  my  aims  and  endeavours;  friendship  of  a 
rare  and  choice  nature  not  otherwise  attainable;  the  constant 
solace  of  home  life,  community  of  interest,  and  so  forth.  But 
whether  I  talked  to  Joe  Vance  No.  2,  or  whether  he  talked  to  me, 
the  word  Love  never  came  into  our  counsels.  And  I  did  nol 


JOSEPH  VANCE  237 

discern  in  my  exasperation  against  the  inventor  of  the  corkscrew 
any  sufficient  grounds  for  a  comparison  between  the  feelings  I 
was  allowing  to  entangle  me  with  an  amiable  and  really  very 
agreeable  girl,  and  the  impulse  which  had  made  the  small  new 
soul  of  a  dozen  years  ago  fall  prostrate  before  the  vision  that  burst 
upon  it,  and  utter,  if  it  spoke  at  all,  the  one  word  Yours,  and 
accept  its  future  in  silence.  For  my  verdict,  if  you  please,  about 
Janey  Spencer  as  I  walked  home  was  that  she  was,  no  doubt,  an 
amiable  and  very  agreeable  girl. 


CHAPTEK  XXVIII 

JOE  HEARS  FROM  FLAT  JANE.  HOW  HIS  FATHER  SMELT  A  RAT.  HOW 
JOE  SPENT  AN  EVENING  AT  FLAT  JANE'S  FATHER'S,  AND  TOOK  A  BOOK 
TO  HER  LATER.  OF  THE  OLD  LIBRARY.  JANE  GETS  AT  JOE.  BUT 
SHE  IS  VERY  NICE.  SHE  CLEARS  JOE's  MIND  UP  GREATLY.  JOE  IS  A 
FOOL — WHY  NOT  BE  FRIENDS?  HE  TALKS  WITH  DR.  THORPE,  WHO 
RATHER  LOVES  JANE  BY  REPORT.  JOE  PERHAPS  LOVES  HER  TOO,  AND 
IS  A  FOOL  AGAIN. 

OF  course  Nolly  Thorpe  was  in  the  Office  of  Spencer,  Aldridge, 
Aldridge,  and  Spencer,  and  nothing  would  have  been  more  natural 
than  for  me  to  saunter  in  at  Hampstead  in  his  company.  I  cer- 
tainly was  very  slow  about  social  points,  for  I  had  completely  for- 
gotten the  legal  side  of  Nolly's  life,  and  regarded  him  merely  as  a' 
cricketer,  dormant  or  active  according  to  the  season.  If  I  had 
been  a  real  Man  of  the  World,  I  should  have  seen  that  the  point 
was  of  no  importance,  and  understood  that  Janey  would  attach  no 
weight  to  a  young  man  of  my  age  asking  to  become  a  visitor  to  her 
family.  I,  who  have  always  regarded  the  slightest  implication  of 
a  pledge  as  my  Act  and  Deed,  took  quite  another  view,  and  held 
that  I  had  done  something  I  was  bound  to  "  follow  up." 

What  a  tight  fit  Life  would  be  if  all  its  obligations  were  laid 
down  by  extremely  conscientious  young  men! 

The  little  note  promised  came  in  due  course.  It  got  burned 
later,  but  I  can  remember  it  word  for  word.  Here  it  is : 

"  THE  LIMES,  FROGNALL,  HAMPSTEAD, 

"  Nov.  18,  1863. 

"  DEAR  MR.  VANCE  :  Would  Tuesday  suit  you  for  dinner  ?  Papa 
is  only  at  home  in  the  evening.  Seven  o'clock. 

"  I  am  afraid  Sarry  will  be  away  all  next  week.  She  would  have 
liked  so  much  to  see  you  again.  She  says  she  has  always  looked 
on  you  as  a  sort  of  brother  of  Mrs.  Desprez — but  she  can't  remem- 
ber you  anywhere  except  that  once.  With  kind  regards  and  hop- 
ing to  see  you  on  Tuesday,  believe  me, 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"JANE  SPENCER." 


JOSEPH   VANCE  239 

"  Wot's  your  love-letter  this  morning,  Nipper  ? "  said  my  Father 
as  we  sate  at  breakfast. 

"  Will  I  dine  on  Tuesday?  See  it  if  you  like,  Daddy !  There's 
nothing  you  want  me  for  on  Tuesday  ? "  And  I  passed  the  letter 
over  to  him.  He  was  rather  slow  over  reading,  though  he  had 
improved  immensely  of  late  years. 

"  Jane  Spencer,"  said  he,  taking  the  name  first — "  Widow  lady, 
I  presoom." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !     Why  should  she  be  a  widow  ? " 

"Thought  it  looked  the  sort  of  name  a  Widow  would  have. 

Jane  Spencer — Jane  Spencer "  And  my  Father  repeated  the 

name  as  though  he  were  trying  it  on  a  Widow  and  found  it  a  good 
fit. 

"  She's  a  very  nice  girl  about  my  own  age.  Who's  this  from,  I 
wonder?  Oh,  it's  Guppy  Featherstonehaugh — in  town  till  the 
fifteenth — can't  I  dine  Tuesday?  Hummums — go  to  Opera — 
Faust  and  Marguerite " 

"  Who's  she  ? "  interjected  my  Father,  but  I  took  no  notice. 

"Little  Tripey — engaged  to  be  married — seems  absurd! — No, 
I  can't !  not  Tuesday — isn't  the  other  one  Tuesday  ? " 

"  The  very  nice  girl  your  own  age  ?  She's  Tuesday.  But  who's 
Marguerite  ? " 

"She's  nothing.  She's  in  Faust.  I'm  sorry  about  Gup — but 
it  can't  be  helped.  We  must  get  another  day " 

"  Won't  the  very  nice  girl  do  another  day — not  even  for  the 
Hoarperer?"  I  didn't  rise  to  this,  and  my  Father,  after  an  in- 
effectual attempt  to  materialize  Marguerite,  gave  her  up,  and  went 
back  to  a  starting  point. 

"  Kespecting  of  this  here  young  Widow  lady " 

"  She's  not  a  Widow,"  said  I,  emphatically. 

"  Well,  Nipper  dear,  keep  your  hair  on !  Anyhow,  you'd  think 
from  her  name  she  would  come  in  and  do  rooms  out.  Coorse  / 
know  Nothin'!  I'm  only  a  sooperannuated  old  Governor " 

"You're  my  dear  old  Dad.  However,  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
her."  And  I  did  so,  and  by  the  time  I'd  got  to  the  fourth  or 
fifth  reason  why  I  preferred  to  chuck  the  Opera  and  go  to  Hamp- 
stead,  my  Father  was  choosing  Jane's  wedding  dress. 

"  Sorry  she  ain't  a  beauty,  Joey !  Look  well  in  a  sort  of  grey 
tool,  perhaps?  Does  she  wear  mittens?" 

I  wasn't  the  least  responsible  for  the  image  my  Father  was  con- 
structing of  Jane  Spencer. 

"Not  that  I  know  of,  Daddy.  And  she  really  is  a  very  nice- 
looking  girl,  with  hazel  eyes  and  a  much  better  figure  than  her 


240  JOSEPH  VANCE 

sister.  Of  course  she's  not  a  Beauty,  like  that  beastly  little 
monkey  Jeannie ! "  And  then,  as  this  epithet  was  certainly  a 
strong  one,  I  narrated  Miss  McGaskin's  escapades  of  the  other 
evening.  I  understood  my  Father  to  take  exception  to  Jeannie's 
shovelling  me  off  on  a  dowdy  because  she  couldn't  have  me  her- 
self; this  was  quite  an  unjust  summing-up  of  the  position,  and  I 
protested  that  though  Jeannie  was  awfully  pretty,  she  was  child- 
ish and  a  romp  and  a  tomboy,  while  Janey  Spencer  wasn't  a  dowdy 
at  all,  if  you  came  to  that,  and  was  particularly  charming  and 
attractive  in  other  points  than  mere  appearance.  I  liked  the 
sound  of  my  own  voice  when  I  praised  her.  I  did  not  analyze  my 
satisfaction.  But  reflecting  that  I  might  indulge  it  at  the  price 
of  too  much  misconception  on  my  Father's  part,  I  discounted  all 
this  by  alleging  an  entire  absence  of  motive  of  any  sort  for  pre- 
ferring Hampstead  to  the  Opera  next  Tuesday.  My  Father  didn't 
seem  impressed  by  these  assurances,  and  said — Oh  ah!  he  saw.  I 
did  not  pursue  the  subject. 

Nothing  happened  on  that  Tuesday  visit  to  Hampstead,  which 
duly  came  off  as  appointed,  to  make  it  the  least  necessary  that  I 
should  carry  Miss  Austen's  "  Pride  and  Prejudice  "  up  there  two 
or  three  days  later.  Jane  had  certainly  mentioned  that  she  hadn't 
got  the  book  and  would  like  to  read  it  again — but  it  could  have 
waited  a  few  days,  or  even  gone  by  P.  D.  C.  But  I  must  needs 
travel  up  there  in  a  snowstorm  on  the  pretext  of  taking  her  a 
novel  which  the  local  Library  could  have  supplied.  The  snow- 
fall began  as  the  bus  passed  the  now  extinct  Waterworks  in  Hamp- 
stead Road.  By  the  time  I  reached  The  Limes  I  was  in  a  white 
world. 

Only  Miss  Jane  was  visible — Miss  Spencer  was  away.  Mrs. 
Spencer  was  confined  to  her  room;  and  as  I  forget  what  was  the 
matter  with  her  I  suppose  I  didn't  care.  Mr.  Spencer  wasn't 
home  yet,  and  might  be  very  late.  I  affected  perplexity,  but  ended 
by  deciding  that  under  the  exceptional  circumstances  Miss  Jan?- 
would  do  to  represent  the  Family.  The  servant  might  have  re- 
plied, "  Considering  that  the  other  evening  when  you  dined  here 
you  only  spoke  to  Miss  Jane  and  hardly  looked  at  Miss  Aldridge 
and  Miss  Kate  Aldridge,  who  are  both  personable,  I  should  rather 
think  she  would  do."  But  she  was  a  discreet  servant,  and  merely 
asked  if  I  would  be  pleased  to  walk  into  the  Library.  I  felt  that 
I  should. 

A  canary-bird  was  in  the  Library,  perhaps  a  descendant  of  the 
former  one — but  he  wasn't  singing.  If  I  understood  a  twitter 
lightly,  he  made  a  remark  about  the  snow  outside,  and  then  re- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  241 

tired  from  public  life.  On  the  table  was  the  same  mirror;  in  the 
bookcase  was  "  Peter  Simple."  I  could  have  got  it  out  and  gone 
on  reading  about  flapdoodle  in  the  same  armchair.  But  then, 
thought  I,  all  would  go  on  very  nearly  as  before  till  the  time  came 
for  Lossie's  return;  and  then  no  knock  would  come  at  the  door, 
and  the  house  would  not  as  then  become  suddenly  all  aglow  with 
Lossie.  I  turned  sick  at  heart,  and  forgot  the  years  between.  I 
turned  a  little  physically  dizzy  too,  for  when  Janey  Spencer  came 
in  she  found  me  sitting  in  the  chair  with  my  head  in  my  hands 
and  my  elbows  on  the  table. 

She  must  have  opened  the  door  and  looked  in  without  my  hear- 
ing her,  for  the  first  thing  I  did  hear  was  her  voice  outside, 
speaking  to  the  servant. 

"Would  you  please  come,  Eliza!  Come  at  once — I  am  afraid 
Mr.  Vance  is  ill."  I  heard  Eliza  hurrying  up  the  kitchen  stairs 
as  I  ran  to  the  door. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Miss  Janey — do  forgive  me !  I'm  not  ill  at  all, 
not  the  least — it's  only  a  way  I  have  of  putting  my  face  in  my 
hands.  And  you  came  so  quietly  I  didn't  hear  you."  Of  course 
it  was  a  lie  about  putting  my  face  in  my  hands — but  it  was  a 
case  of  extreme  pressure.  I  had  to  prevent  Eliza  thinking  I  was 
drunk — I  wasn't  afraid  of  Janey.  However,  I  was  so  anxious  for 
a  perfectly  clear  conscience  that  as  soon  as  Eliza  had  gone,  I  con- 
fessed up  in  that  sense. 

"  Something  was  the  matter  though,"  said  Janey,  and  nailed 
me  to  veracity  with  her  candid  hazel  eye. 

"Yes — something.  But  I  don't  know  that  I  can  exactly 
describe  it.  Something  connected  with  my  having  been  here  so 
long  ago." 

"And  Mrs.  Desprez?" 

What  a  very  stupid  boy  I  must  have  been  at  twenty-one  to 
think  this  sharpness  phenomenal!  I  got  confused  and  stut- 
tered. 

"Yes — no — yes!  Well,  I  suppose  yes — in  a  certain  sense,  yes. 
Well  then,  2/es/"  This  last  yes  was  a  hauling  down  of  colours 
in  reply  to  an  anticipated  broadside.  For  Jane  had  not  spoken. 
Neither  did  she  speak  till  she  had  stirred  the  fire  and  made  a 
blaze.  Then  she  closed  the  door,  and  after  a  collateral  remark 
about  how  nobody  ever  came  fussing  into  the  Library  and  one 
could  chat  in  quiet,  sat  down  before  the  fire  and  brought  up  the 
Bill  for  a  second  Reading. 

"  I  can  remember  Lossie  Thorpe — that  is,  Mrs.  Desprez — coming 
in  here  and  sitting  in  this  chair  with  her  bonnet  in  her 


242  JOSEPH  VANCE 

lap  and  her  hair  loose."  So  could  I.  "You  were  very 
fond  of  her?" 

"Very.     But  she  isn't  dead,  you  know.    Now,  is  she?" 

"  No !     But  she's— well !— she's  married." 

"And  gone  to  India,"  said  I,  softening  ft,  and  evading  the 
trend  of  the  conversation.  "  It  is  almost  the  same  thing  as  dead 
to  us, — that  is  to  her  father,  and  her  brothers  and  myself."  But 
Janey  was  not  to  be  put  off  with  this  mean  shift.  Her  brothers, 
indeed!  Not  that  she  said  this — she  only  thought  it  almost 
audibly.  I  felt  it  necessary  to  improve  my  position. 

"  You  see,  of  course,  it  was  like  this.  Lossie  Thorpe  took  me  up 
when  I  was  the  merest  kid — used  to  sit  on  her  lap  and  that 
sort  of  thing — and  I  used  to  spend  most  of  my  time  when  I  wasn't 
at  school  at  her  father's.  I  almost  became  an  inmate.  And  so, 
naturally,  when  we  lost  her,  it  was "  I  stopped  dead. 

"Naturally  it  was,"  said  Janey.  "But  I  daresay  her  brothers 
are  not  inconsolable.  Mr.  Oliver  Thorpe  bears  it  with  resignation. 
The  young  one,  Joey,  of  course  must  feel  the  loss  dreadfully — his 
sister  was  quite  a  mother  to  him " 

"Joey  is  young.    Boys  are  like  that." 

"Like  what?" 

"Well — they  take  things  coolly — sometimes " 

"  And  you  have  not  taken  things  coolly  ? " 

"  Not  altogether.    Her  father  and  I,  don't  you  see,  are " 

"No— I  don't  see " 

"By-the-bye,  Miss  Spencer,  I  brought  you  up  that  book — 
'Pride  and  Prejudice' — you  said  you  would  like  to  read  it  again. 
I  think  it  far  her  cleverest  Novel.  I  don't  care  nearly  so  much 
for  '  Mansfield  Park ' "  Jane  interrupted  me. 

"No — Mr.  Vance — I  won't  be  put  off  with  'Pride  and  Preju- 
dice'— nor  even  'Mansfield  Park.'  I  want  to  know  what  her 
father  and  you-don't-you-see  are?" 

"Why,  it's  difficult!  I  mean  it's  a  difficult  sort  of  thing  to 
talk  about.  It's  not  Euclid.  Of  course  her  going  away  wasn't 
the  same  thing  to  her  father  and  to  me — there  could  be  no 
comparison " 

"  And  if  she  had  stayed  in  England ? " 

"It  would  have  made  the  whole  difference  to  him.  Since  she 
has  been  gone  it  has  not  been  like  the  same  house.  He  kept  up 
wonderfully,  and  said  he  was  not  going  to  be  a  damper  on  his 
daughter's  happiness.  But  as  soon  as  she  was  gone  he  broke  down* 
And  he  has  never  seemed  the  same  since."  It  was  curious  what 
a  relief  I  found  it  to  turn  the  conversation  in  this  way  entirely  to 


JOSEPH  VANCE  243 

Dr.  Thorpe.  All  I  said  of  him  I  was  at  liberty  to  mean  about 
myself,  only  it  was  so  infinitely  easier  to  say  it  of  him.  But  this 
way  of  treating  the  matter  wasn't  fair  to  Jane  Spencer,  who  saw 
the  subject  being  wheedled  into  another  channel.  However,  she 
let  me  run  on  for  a  while,  until  I  escaped  altogether  into  a  region 
of  no  interest.  I  think  I  made  use  of  sleeplessness  Dr.  Thorpe 
had  suffered  from  in  the  past  six  months  as  a  stepping-stone  to 
dyspepsia;  an  interesting  subject,  but  not  the  one  the  candid 
hazel  eyes  had  nailed  me  up  to  talk  about. 

"  Mr.  Vance,"  said  their  owner,  "  never  mind  light  diets  and 
little  and  often.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something !  " 

"I  will — if  I  can."     But  I  was  frightened  all  the  same. 

"Why  is  it  a  man  can  never  be,  frankly  and  honestly,  friends 
with  a  woman,  and  talk  to  her  without  reserve  as  he  would  to  a 
manlike  himself?" 

"Can't  he?" 

"  No — he  can't !  At  least  you  can't  talk  to  me  so.  Oh  yes — I 
know  what  any  one  would  say!  We've  only  met  three  times;  two 
wiggly  sofas,  and  one  dinner  up  here.  But  then  just  think!  / 
was  the  little  girl  Janey  you  saw  in  the  glass,  as  you  told  me  last 
week.  And  I  found  you  there  nine  years  ago  waiting  for  Lossie 
Thorpe.  And  just  now  I  found  you  again  in  the  same  place,  and 
all  so  changed.  And  then  you  make  reserves,  and  keep  this  back 
and  keep  that  back;  and  I  want  to  be  so  sorry  for  you,  and  you 
won't  let  me." 

How  nice  it  would  have  been  to  have  a  sister  like  this  to  go 
to — in  my  half -delirious  time  at  Oxford,  for  instance !  "  A  sister 
or  cousin  or  middle-aged  relative  of  some  sort,"  murmured  Joe 
Vance  No.  2,  and  then  added,  "whom  I  shouldn't  have  any  partic- 
ular tendresse  for."  But  I  put  him  aside,  feeling  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  him.  "  Oh,  do  forgive  me,"  I  cried  to  Janey,  "  I 
won't  humbug  any  more.  Indeed,  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  truth. 
Only,  as  I  said,  it's  not  altogether  easy  to  tell." 

"  You  would  find  it  much  easier  to  tell  if  you  knew  how  easy  I 
should  find  it  to  understand — or  any  woman,  for  that  matter. 
Why,  I  believe  I  could  tell  you  the  whole  story  without  troubling 
you  to  say  a  word.  You  were  and  always  have  been,  and  are  still, 
so  fond  of  Lossie  Thorpe  that  you  cannot  bear  to  lose  her.  Where 
is  the  difficulty  of  talking  about  it?  * 

"  There  is  none — to  you."  And  Janey's  free  speech  and  direct 
treatment  of  the  subject  came  to  me  almost  as  a  kind  of  revela- 
tion. Also  it  put  me  on  such  perfectly  easy  terms  with  her  that 
when,  as  I  was  taking  leave  at  the  door  and  Mr.  Spencer  came 


244  JOSEPH  VANCE 

struggling  in  through  the  thickening  snow,  and  remarked  that  it 
would  be  quite  contra  pacem  Domini  Regis  for  me  to  think  of 
going  all  the  way  to  Clapham  on  such  a  night,  I  accepted  the  sug- 
gestion gratefully,  and  without  mental  complications,  and  Janey 
said  I  should  sleep  in  "  my  old  room." 

Why  did  I  not  accept  Janey's  frank  interpretation  of  the  posi- 
tion ?  Why  could  I  not  see  that  her  persistence  in  getting  at  the 
truth  about  Lossie  was  due  to  her  wish  to  define  the  terms  of  her 
friendship  with  me,  and  to  preclude  philandering?  She  was  just 
the  sort  of  girl  to  be  able  to  be  friends  with  a  man  and  no  more, 
provided  he  would  be  content  to  reciprocate.  But  I  must  needs 
sneak  in  a  sub-intent  to  the  effect  that  the  position  might  be 
reconsidered,  and  I  really  only  made  use  of  the  treaty  as  a 
stepping-stone  to  its  reconsideration.  Poor  Janey  had  squared  it 
all  up  with  me  so  truthfully  and  courageously.  For  how  could 
better  security  have  been  given  for  good  behaviour  than  the  con- 
fession of  an  anchorage  elsewhere?  Surely  I  was  to  be  relied  on 
to  keep  my  affections  to  myself.  But  in  any  case  of  this  sort, 
however  truthful  may  be  a  girl's  wish  to  fraternize  but  not  to 
marry,  the  man's  restless  vanity  is  sure  to  be  at  work  suggesting 
that  her  version  of  her  sentiments  is  probably  untrue,  and  that  it 
is  really  quite  impossible  she  shouldn't  care  for  him  a  little  more 
than  that! 

So  when  (as  may  be  imagined)  it  came  to  the  foolish  declara- 
tion, that  should  not  then  have'  been  made,  of  a  passion  that  I  was 
not  absolutely  certain  I  felt,  Janey  threw  out  her  hands  with  a 
sort  of  gesture  of  despair,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Vance,  Mr.  Vance, 
we  were  so  jolly  and  now  you've  spoiled  it  all ! "  And  so  I  had, 
and  had  done  it  very  stupidly  too.  For  a  revelation  of  what  I 
was  pleased  to  call  my  feelings,  which  would  have  been  plausible 
to  myself,  or  maybe  more  than  merely  plausible,  a  year  after  my 
confession  about  Lossie,  was  a  mistake  at  the  end  of  a  couple  of 
months. 

My  Father,  who  had  been  watching  my  proceedings  with  deep 
interest,  was  rather  disgusted  when  I  told  him  the  widow  lady 
said  she  wouldn't  have  me.  For  he  persisted  in  considering  Janey 
as  essentially  a  relict;  although  by  miscarriage  of  circumstances 
she  had  never  been  married.  He  cheered  up,  however,  when  I 
gave  him  a  few  more  particulars.  "It's  only  her  'umbug,  Joe," 
was  his  conclusion.  "The  land  warn't  ripe  for  building!  You 
turned  on  the  water  before  it  biled,  and  just  spoiled  all  the  tea. 
I  should  'ark  back  to  the  startin'-post  if  I  was  in  your  stockins, 


JOSEPH   VANCE  245 

and  light  a  new  cigar,  as  the  sayin'  is."  I  did  not  identify  the 
saying,  but  I  saw  that  my  Father's  mixture  of  allegories  contained 
the  truth. 

I  had  half  informed  Dr.  Thorpe  of  all  my  goings-on,  and  had 
described  my  visit  to  the  McGaskins  and  so  forth.  I  noticed 
that  whenever  I  went  on  my  weekly  Saturday  evening  visit  to- 
Poplar  Villa,  which  had  become  a  sacred  usage,  the  Doctor's  first 
greeting  at  the  gate  was  always :  "  Well — Joe — any  news  ? "  And 
he  expected  some,  anxiously — and  his  disappointment  was  always 
visible  when  there  was  no  news.  No  doubt  casual  intimations 
reached  him  through  Nolly,  who  was  just  capable  of  a  very 
languid  interest  in  a  love-match  when  there  was  no  Cricket- 
match  on  the  tapis.  I  settled  in  my  mind  that  I  would  take  the 
Doctor  into  my  confidence  at  the  next  opportunity.  One  came 
quickly  enough,  for  when  I  walked  into  his  Library  the  first  time 
after  what  I  had  represented  to  my  Father  as  my  rejection 
(though,  indeed,  it  hardly  amounted  to  that)  the  Doctor  met  me 
with,  "  Come,  Joe,  some  news  this  time,  I  hope !"  I  should  have 
liked  to  be  able  to  say  yes,  for  he  looked  grey  and  old,  and  as  if  he 
sadly  wanted  a  life-brightener.  But  I  had  to  shake  my  head. 

"  Nothing,  so  far,  Doctor." 

"But  something,  some  time — eh,  Joe?  You'll  tell  me  when 
there  is  any  news,  dear  boy,  won't  you  ? " 

"  Indeed  I  will.  Or  suppose  I  tell  you  now — Nolly  has  told 
about  me  and  Janey  Spencer — isn't  it  ? " 

"  That's  the  ticket.  You  shall  tell  me  about  it  all  dinner-time. 
The  Legal  Mind  and  the  Poet  are  both  away  and  we  shall  have  it 
all  to  ourselves."  The  Legal  Mind,  of  course,  was  Nolly;  and  the 
Poet,  Joey.  He  had  certainly  a  faculty  for  verse-writing.  But 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  at  present. 

"  Now,  Joe,  old  boy ! "  said  Dr.  Thorpe,  when  we  came  to  the 
port  wine  and  walnut  stage — "tell  me  all  about  you  and  Jane 
Spencer." 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell.  It  comes  substantially  to  this — I 
have  told  Jane  that  I  like  her  very  much  (which  is  perfectly  true) 
and  that  I  think  she  would  be  an  ideal  wife  for  any  man,  and  that 
if  she  agrees  I  will  try  to  make  her  an  equally  good  husband n 

"  Was  that  the  way  you  put  it? " 

"Well— very  nearly!" 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ? "  I  imitated  Janey's  action  and  man- 
ner in  replying,  giving  her  words  as  I  have  given  them  above. 

"  She  must  be  a  particularly  nice  girl,"  said  the  Doctor,  his 
face  rippling  all  over  with  amusement. 


846  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"Indeed  she  is,'7  said  I,  and  broke  into  a  panegyric  of  Janey 
with  real  pleasure. 

"  And  you  really  mean,  Joe,"  said  he,  when  I  had  done,  "  that 
you  felt  all  that  and  couldn't  put  any  more  steam  on  than  what  I 
gather  you  did — from  what  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  put  on  all  the  steam  I  was  capable  of." 

"  About  two  pounds  to  the  inch  ? " 

"More  than  that — say,  twenty." 

"  What  pressure  is  wanted  to  make  your  other  Engine,  the  Great 
Invention,  reciprocate  ? " 

"  It  works  best  at  high  pressures." 

"Ah,  Joe  dear,  that's  where  it  is!  The  Human  engine  works 
best  at  high  pressures.  Janey  would  reciprocate,  I  have  no  doubt, 
at  two  hundred  to  the  inch.  What  does  your  Father  say — you've 
told  him?" 

"  Oh  yes — I've  told  him.  He  goes  on  the  same  line — says  I 
turned  on  the  water  before  it  boiled,  and  spoiled  all  the  tea." 

"His  metaphor  is  better  than  mine.  We  seem  to  run  into 
metaphors  over  this  job!  Of  course  the  urn  ought  to  spit  and 
fizzle  before  you  turn  the  handle  down — also  the  pot  ought  to  be 
warm!  It's  a  pretty  allegory.  Now  you'll  have  your  smoke." 
And  I  sat  and  puffed  before  the  fire. 

But,  as  all  roads  lead  to  Rome,  so  for  me  in  these  days  all  roads 
led  to  Lossie,  who  was  my  Rome.  Even  the  allegory  of  the  urn 
and  the  tea  brought  back  to  me  one  of  the  thousand  pictures  of 
Lossie  which  line  the  walls  of  my  gallery  of  Memories.  I  could 
see  her  plainly  kissing  Sarry  on  both  sides;  as  I  presumed,  to  keep 
her  isosceles ! — and  could  again  hear  the  urn  in  the  breakfast-room 
at  The  Limes  protesting  against  being  left  boiling  so  long.  Now 
if  you  skipped  the  place  where  I  told  of  this  you  won't  know  what 
I  mean.  Skip  this  too — 

"Cheer  up,  Joe!  Don't  look  so  sad,  old  man.  The  fly-wheel 
will  keep  the  engine  running  till  you  put  the  steam  on  again. 
She'll  be  all  right!" 

"  Janey  Spencer  ?  Oh  yes — I  daresay  that  may  come  all  right — 
one  mustn't  be  in  too  great  a  hurry." 

But  the  Doctor  looked  unhappy  and  disconcerted  as  he  stood 
there  on  the  hearthrug  rubbing  his  chin.  Then  he  made  a  turn  up 
and  down  the  room,  stopping  to  take  snuff.  Then  he  came  back 
and  let  himself  down  into  his  armchair  again  with  "  Ah — well !  " 
Each  of  us  knew  what  the  other  was  thinking  of. 

"  Leave  it  all  in  God's  hands,  Joey,"  said  he.  And  we  left  it — 
left  it  alone,  at  any  rate,  until  the  servant  having  provided  a  tray 


JOSEPH  VANCE  247 

and  a  kettle  and  lemons  ed  altri  generi,  as  Italian  shops  say, 
wanted  to  know  if  there  was  anything  else.  Being  informed  that 
with  that  exception  (whatever  it  was)  the  Universe  was  empty, 
and  there  was  nothing  else,  she  retired  with  benedictions.  Then 
I  returned  to  the  subject. 

"  But  the  question  is,  is  it  right  ? " 

"Is  what  right?" 

"  Going  hammering  on  at  Janey  Spencer,  when  she's  said  flatly 
that  she  would  much  rather  not  think  of  marriage  at  all,  that  she 
does  not  believe  that  she  would  be  happy  nor  make  me  happy,  and 
that  for  all  that  she  doesn't  want  to  lose  me — says  why  can't  she 
have  me  without  marrying  me?  " 

"  That  sounds  like  an  Advanced  American  idea !  But  of  course 
I  know  what  the  girl  means — bless  her  heart !  " 

«  Of  course.    Well,  is  it  right  ? " 

"  The  question  is — are  we  really  fond  enough  of  Janey  Spencer  ? 
Well— are  we?" 

I  couldn't  answer.  I  felt  that  Joe  Vance  No.  2  was  trying  to- 
get  his  word  in,  but  I  snubbed  him,  as  I  did  not  approve  of  his 
tone  of  thought  on  the  subject.  The  Doctor  continued: 

"  It  does  seem  to  me  very  odd,  Joe,  that  any  young  man  should 
speak  as  you  do  of  a  girl  and  not  be  able  to  marry  her ;  twice  over* 
for  that  matter." 

I  broke  into  a  perfectly  genuine  laugh.  "Marry  Jane  Spen- 
cer ! "  I  cried ;  "  why,  I'd  marry  her  to-morrow !  Any  fellow 
would." 

"Then  what's  the  botheration?"  said  the  Doctor,  looking 
amused  again.  I  felt  I  must  clinch  my  meaning. 

"I  know  she  will  never  marry  me  unless  I  can  give  her  some 
satisfactory  assurance  that  I — well!  some  kind  of  satisfactory 
credentials " 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  he,  very  gravely,  "  if  you  were  to  tell  her 
all  about  yourself — all,  I  mean,  about  things  of  this  sort — how 
would  that  be?" 

"  I  have  told  her  everything,"  said  I. 

Dr.  Thorpe's  puzzled  look  came  back  again  worse  than  before. 
He  took  more  snuff,  and  in  the  sound  of  his  taking  it  I  almost 
thought  I  heard  a  kind  of  a  sob.  Then  he  said  again,  "Ah — 
well ! "  and  after  a  pause,  "  You  must  leave  it  all  in  God's  hands, 
Joe."  He  got  up  and  took  another  turn  about  the  room,  and 
then  resumed  his  chair  and  his  speech  at  the  same  time. 

"  When  I  say  that,  Joe,  you  know  what  I  mean.  We  can't  take 
anything  out  of  God's  hands — not  the  biggest  among  us.  But 


248  JOSEPH  VANCE 

we  can  all  do  our  best  in  patience,  and  be  ready  to  accept  tbe  end 
when  it  comes.  Tbat's  my  meaning,  or  most  of  it." 

"  You  were  afraid  I  should  get  into  a  Capstickian  Complicated 
Mixture  over  it  ? "  said  I.  For  really,  it  seemed  to  me  we  were 
on  the  edge  of  a  Metaphysical  morass. 

"  That  sort  of  thing  certainly !  "  said  he.  And  we  both  laughed, 
with  a  little  tribute  to  old  times,  somehow,  in  our  laugh.  "  But  I 
don't  see  the  use  of  Anthropomorphism  at  all,  unless  it  stands  by 
us  at  a  crisis!  However,  if  I  can't  get  a  gleam,  I  shall  just  be 
patient  in  the  dark.  But  it  would  have  been  very  nice,  dear  boy, 
to  know  that  you  were  happy — No !  I  wasn't  building  on  it.  And 
you  mustn't  allow  a  wish  to  make  my  mind  easy  influence  you.  It 
would  be  wrong  to  Miss  Spencer.  If  you  try  again,  after  what 
she  has  said,  she  will  probably  believe  what  you  say — which  she 
evidently  didn't,  last  try ! — Joe ! " — My  name  came  from  the 
Doctor  by  itself,  in  serious  appeal.  He  laid  his  forefinger  on  my 
hand,  that  held  my  empty  pipe  on  the  table  beside  me.  "Yes — 
Doctor !  "  said  I. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  you  know  how  much  you  care  about  her  ? " 

"  I'm  sure  I  could " 

"  Marry  her  ?  Yes — of  course !  But,  I  mean,  are  you  sure  you 
don't  care  more  than  you  think  ? " 

fi  No,"  said  I,  after  a  moment's  reflection.  "  I'm  not."  And  I 
wasn't.  And  I  tried  again,  and  Janey  believed  what  I  said.  So 
didL 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HOW  TWO  FIANCES  READ  MRS.  LUCILLA  DESPREZ's  ANSWER  TO  JOE*S 
LETTER.  OF  PERTURBATION  THEREAT.  OF  HOW  JOE^S  FATHER 
FOUND  AND  READ  IT  TOO.  HE  WILL  NOT  BE  AN  ENCUMBRANCE.  OF 
ANOTHER  LETTER  FROM  JANE.  JOE  IS  BROKEN  QUITE  OFF. 

WHEN,  therefore,  Pheener  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  sitting- 
room  at  my  Father's  (as  per  my  disjointed  statement  some  chap- 
ters ago)  it  was  an  Engaged  Couple  that  called  out  "  Come  in," 
after  establishing  a  respectable  distance  between  its  moieties. 
And  Pheener  came  in  and  brought  many  letters,  on  one  of  which  I 
pounced.  I  had  reasons  for  wishing  to  read  it  before  I  showed 
it  to  Janey.  But  Janey  was  too  sharp. 

"  Oh,  Joseph — that's  not  fair !  After  reading  all  my  letters  the 
other  day,  and  me  letting  you!  I  know  who  it's  from — it's  Lossie 
Desprez.  However,  keep  it — keep  it,  I  shall  see  all  her  letters  to 
Sarry,  and  it  will  do  just  as  well.  So  go  your  own  way,  Master 
Joseph." 

The  exact  reason  why  Janey  was  at  Clapham  is  not  indispen- 
sable, but  I  may  as  well  give  it.  She  had  been  to  pay  a  Christmas 
visit  to  an  Aunt  at  Streatham,  and  I  had  been  all  day  at  work  on 
Engineering  Drawings  in  a  little  sanctum  I  had  made  for  myself 
at  my  Father's.  This  Aunt  was  peculiar.  She  objected  to  nieces 
being  engaged,  and  after  much  discussion  it  had  been  decided 
that  it  would  be  on  the  whole  safer  not  to  take  me  to  see  her. 
"  She'll  be  all  right  when  we're  married,  Joseph,"  said  Janey. 

Can  any  one  explain  why  it  is  that  Aunts  have  always  to  be 
treated  with  such  tact  and  discretion?  It  is  certainly  my  own 
experience  that  the  Human  Race  appears  to  be  always  taking  care 
not  to  give  offence  to  its  Aunts,  and  avoiding  subjects  which  are 
likely  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  its  Aunts,  and  wondering  what  Aunt 
This  will  say  when  she  hears  of  That,  or  Aunt  That  will  think 
when  she  sees  T'other — and  generally  entrenching  itself  against 
serried  ranks  of  Aunts,  paternal  and  maternal.  Is  not  each  man's 
Mother  some  other  man's  Aunt?  and  many  men's  Aunts  (however 
painful  the  fact  may  be)  several  other  persons'  Mothers  ?  I  should 
like  to  pursue  this  curious  subject  some  other  time — at  present  I 
have  to  get  on  with  my  narrative. 

249 


250  JOSEPH  VANCE 

This  particular  Aunt  of  Janey's  then,  being  bristly,  and  dif- 
ficult of  approach  by  half -fledged  nephews,  had  thrown  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  my  calling  for  Janey  to  take  her  back  to  Hampstead, 
but  at  the  same  time  had  been  keenly  alive  to  the  perils  of  the 
wilds  of  suburbs,  and  had  graciously  provided  the  carriage  to  give 
her  a  lift  to  my  Father's.  We  were  teaing  together  greatly  to  our 
satisfaction  when  Pheener  knocked.  And  that  brings  me  back 
to  the  letter  again. 

"  No,  dear  girl — you  shall  have  the  letter  all  to  yourself  and 
read  it  first  if  you  like." 

"  I  was  only  joking,  dear  Joseph.  Be  a  good  boy  and  come 
back  here  and  we'll  read  it  together."  And  I  have  no  doubt  if 
you  could  have  looked  in  at  the  window  you  would  have  remarked 
that  we  were  a  nice-looking  young  couple  of  spooneys  on  a  settee 
reading  a  letter. 

As  our  last  letters  had  contained  plenty  to  answer  there  was  not 
much  about  India.  There  was  a  good  deal  about  my  Father,  and 
I  was  a  little  sorry  Janey  should  see  it.  Then  I  saw,  glancing 
ahead  of  our  deciphering,  that  the  letter  went  on  to  answer  my 
question  about  being  "  romantically  in  love."  I  was  apprehensive 
that  something  might  easily  grate  on  the  existing  order  of  things, 
which  had  all  come  about  since  my  letter  was  written.  I  estab- 
lished a  firmer  hold  on  Janey's  loose  hand,  to  provide  against 
contingencies.  On  went  the  letter: 

"Hugh  and  I  were  so  amused  with  your  visit  to  the  Scotch 
Engineer's.  Can't  your  friend  Bony  be  induced  to  give  up  the 
lovely  Jeannie?  You  seem  to  have  been  in  a  very  serious  plight 
about  her.  But  fancy  you  happening  on  the  other  Jane  at  the 
same  house.  The  idea  of  its  being  Grizzle  all  the  while,  and  your 
not  knowing  it!  But  'not  half  bad,  considering'!  Let  me  tell 
you,  you  are  a  most  impertinent  young  man,  and  Janey  is  quite 
one  of  the  most  charming  and  delightful  creatures  I  know " 

"Very  well,  Master  Joseph,"  said  Janey,  sternly,  withdrawing 
her  hand  from  mine.  "  You  shan't  have  it  back  again — you  don't 
deserve  it!  '  Not  half  bad,  considering!'  Well,  I  like  that! 
And  then  you  have  the  impudence  to  ask  me  to  marry  you — after 
saying  I  wasn't  half  bad,  considering ! " 

0  Please,  it  wasn't  me,"  said  I.  "  Please,  it  was  a  clerical  error. 
Please,  it  was  a  lapsus  calami" 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  fine!  But  considering  what?  That's  what 
I  want  to  know !  Now  do  you  deserve  it  back  2 — '  Of  course  not.' 


JOSEPH   VANCE  251 

~-Well  I'm  glad  you  plead  guilty!    Now  leave  alone  and  let  me 
get  on  with  the  letter." 

"  And  now,  dear  Joe,  you  ask  me  whether  it  is  '  really  necessary 
to  married  happiness  to  be  romantically  in  love  at  first  go  off.' 
Do  try  and  think  of  what  I  write  as  if  I  were  speaking  to  you,  and 
speaking  very  seriously.  My  idea  is  this:  that  happiness  may 
result  from  any  marriage  however  incongruous,  and  however  little 
the  parties  deserve  it!  But  no  one  has  a  right  to  run  any  risks. 
Another  human  creature's  happiness  is  too  serious  to  tamper  with, 
even  if  you  have  a  right  (and  I  don't  believe  it)  to  make  ducks 
and  drakes  of  your  own.  If  what  you  say  points  to  an  intention 
to  apply  for  Grizzle,  and  means  that  you  don't  feel  quite  sure 
you  care  about  her,  wait  till  you  do!  You  are  only  a  boy  of 
twenty-two — what  do  you  want  with  marrying !  Go  to  the  Zoologi- 
cal Gardens  with  Grizzle — go  to  the  Play — go  to  Henley-on- 
Thames — go  anywhere,  but  don't  go  to  the  altar  of  Hymen.  When 
I  think  of  what  a  dear  boy  you  are  and  what  a  dear  girl  Grizzle 
is,  I  shudder  at  the  idea  of  your  imperilling  each  other's  happiness 
by  rushing  into  a  stupid  undertaking,  with  possibly  horrible  con- 
sequences. Why  can't  you  be  contented  as  you  are  ? " 

"Why  can't  you?"  said  Janey,  stopping  short  and  turning 
the  letter  over  on  her  knees. 

"Never  mind — I  can't.  That's  enough  for  now.  Business  is 
business.  Go  on  with  the  letter !  " 

"Yes — but  I  want  to  know  why  you  can't." 

"Why  I  can't  what?" 

"Be  contented  as  you  are " 

"I  am  contented.  I've  got  you  here,  and  what  more  do  I 
want?" 

"  Joseph !  Be  good  enough  not  to  prevaricate."  But  there  was 
a  certain  tone  of  satisfaction  in  her  voice,  and  I  felt  that  I  had 
made  a  hit. 

But  why  do  I  put  it  in  that  way  ?  Why  should  there  have  been 
any  question  of  scoring? 

"  Cut  along,  Grizzle  darling !    Fire  away  with  the  letter." 

"  Now,  my  dear  old  boy,  I  don't  think  I  should  write  so  earnestly 
about  it,  only  that  I  suspect  from  other  things  you  say  that  you 
have  another  motive  in  wanting  to  marry.  You  always  let  cats 
out  of  bags  when  you  write  letters,  although  you  do  know  how 
to  keep  your  mouth  shut  in " 


252  JOSEPH   VANCE 

"—What's  that  word?" 

" '  In  Nature.'  That  man  that  painted  Yi,  you  know,  said  the 
mouth  was  small  '  in  Nature ' " 

" — '  in  Nature/  and  I  can't  help  thinking  you  have  got  an  idea 
that  a  daughter-in-law  and  a  household  would  be  good  for  your 
Father,  and  would  keep  him  from  the  Whiskey-bottle " 

"  Grizzle  dearest — Lossie  has  quite  misunderstood  something  I 
said.  Oh,  do — oh,  don't — I  mean  don't  go  on  reading,  because 
Lossie  can't  have  meant  any  one  hut  me  to  read  it " 

Janey  folded  up  the  letter  and  rsat  turning  it  over  with  the  free 
hand.  The  other  lay  very  limp  in  mine — and  she  said  not  a 
word. 

"  Oh,  my  dearest — don't  you  misunderstand  me  too ! — I  know 
quite  well  what  gave  Lossie  that  notion — it  was  in  a  letter  I  wrote 
before — you  know  I  began  sending  off  letters  soon  after  she 
went.  It  was  before  ever  we  met  at  Circus  Road — indeed,  it 
was ! "  But  Janey  only  turned  the  letter  over,  and  her  hand  was 
very  cold  in  mine. 

"  Never  mind,  dear  Joseph,"  said  she  at  last.  "  It  was  right 
and  good  of  you  to  think  about  your  Father.  But " 

But  Janey's  lips  clenched  and  her  face  wrinkled  up  as  though 
a  burst  of  tears  were  coming.  It  stopped  in  an  early  stage  before 
reaching  the  sob  or  gasp,  and  only  spoiled  her  face  for  a  second 
or  so.  "  Never  mind,"  said  she,  courageously.  "  We  must  be  off 
— we  shall  never  get  to  Hamp  stead  in  time  for  dinner."  Janey's 
face  wasn't  at  its  best  when  she  began  to  cry,  and  I  was  glad 
when  she  cleared  up. 

She  did  not  quite  clear  up  though — there  was  a  chill  all  the 
way  to  Hampstead,  a  something  uncomfortable.  She  was  sweet 
and  nice,  as  she  always  was;  but  warmth  and  comfort  had  gone. 
I  could  see  that  Mr.  Spencer's  legal  acumen  perceived  that  some- 
thing was  wrong,  but  his  professional  reserve  forbade  his  asking 
questions.  As  for  Mrs.  Spencer,  I  don't  know  whether  she  ever 
perceived  anything  at  all  on  this  or  any  other  subject.  Besides, 
there  were  guests. 

I  did  not  stay  the  night,  as  my  room  was  bespoken  by  a  country; 
cousin.  I  found  my  way  back  through  a  gale  and  sleet  to  Clap- 
ham  about  two  in  the  morning,  and  went  to  bed  discouraged. 

I  had  arranged  to  stay  at  home  next  evening  and  dine  with  my 
Father.  I  had  been  neglecting  the  old  boy  lately,  and  whenever 
I  did  this  I  fancy  he  took  a  little  extra,  to  balance.  He  seemed  to 


JOSEPH  VANCE  2*3 

me  peevish  and  sleepy.  He  made  an  unusual  parade  of  allow- 
ancing himself  two  small  glasses  of  whiskey,  and  even  directed 
Pheener  to  take  away  the  dam  bottle. 

"  If  I  do  go  the  length  of  another  'arf-a-glass,"  said  he,  "  it  '11 
be  quite  independent  of  this  here  allowance — acrost  another  bar 
as  you  might  say,  hay,  Nipper  ? "  This  was  his  favourite  method 
of  combining  a  clear  conscience  with  the  profits  of  transgression, 
and  the  smile  under  Pheener's  skin  came  through  to  the  surface. 

"  What's  little  Clementina  a-grinnin'  at  ?  "  said  he. 

At  this  the  smile  became  a  giggle  or  splutter,  and  vanished  into 
the  passage  with  Pheener  and  a  tray.  Provided  with  more  cheer- 
fulness of  tone  by  this  little  incident,  my  Eather  went  on : 

"  But  you  haven't  any  call  to  fret,  dear  Nipper.  Your  old  Dad 
isn't  going  to  be  a  burden  on  two  young  folk  starting  in  life. 
You'll  be  all  right." 

"Daddy!" 

"  Nipper !  Just  precisely  as  I  say,  so  I  stick  to !  You  and  this 
here  nice  young  lady,  Mrs,  Nipper  as  is  to  be,  are  going  to  start 
fair  without  encumbrances.  You'll  have  to  provide  your  own  en- 
cumbrances," here  came  in  a  trace  of  jocularity,  which  expanded 
as  my  Eather  proceeded  to  rough-sketch  an  advertisement,  an- 
nouncing the  arrival  of  an  early  grandson. 

"  But,  Daddy,  it  would  spoil  it  all,  if  you  were  not  there." 

"Would  it,  Joey?  But  I  expect  Miss  Lossie's  right.  She 
mostly  is.  She's  right  about  the  dam  bottle,  and  I  expect  she's 
right  about  you."  He  put  on  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  spectacles, 
which  had  served  two  purposes,  one  to  give  a  finishing  touch  to 
solvency  and  respectability,  the  other  to  nourish  a  fiction  that  the 
wearer  had  always  had  a  turn  for  reading,  but  had  been  baffled  by 
short  sight.  He  then  pulled  out  a  massive  pocketbook,  in  which  he 
had  actually  learned  to  write  very  fair  memoranda,  and  drew 
from  a  side  slip  a  letter  which  I  at  once  identified  as  Lossie's  let- 
ter of  yesterday !  I  had  looked  for  it  when  I  returned,  there  being 
a  remainder  unread,  and  had  been  upset  at  not  finding  it,  but  had 
thought  possibly  Janey  had  taken  it,  and  forgotten  to  give  it 
back.  Here  was  a  nice  mess! 

"Well— I  declare— Dad!  There's  my  letter,  after  all!  I 
hunted  for  it  all  last  night." 

"  Nippers  shouldn't  leave  their  letters  about.  When  they  do, 
their  Dads  finds  'em  and  reads  'em.  When  they  reads  'em  their 
conclusions  are  (push  over  the  'baccy  to  my  side) — as  follows." — 
This  resource  of  rhetoric  favoured  the  lighting  of  a  pipe  before 
continuing. — "  Are  as  follows — you  shut  up,  Joey,  and  let  me  do 


254  JOSEPH   VANCE 

the  poll-parrotting — are  as  follows:  When  Nippers'  Dads  are 
addicted  to  anything  (whiskey,  for  instance)  it  don't  do  'em  any 
harm  to  be  well  blown  up — especially  if  Miss  Lossie.  So  I  say 
nothing  about  that.  But  I  do  say  this,  Joey,"  and  my  Father's 
manner  changed  as  he  forsook  the  obliqua  oraiio,  "  I  do  say  a 
young  gal's  entitled  to  be  consulted  and  have  her  finger  in  the  pie, 
and  not  to  have  her  boozy  old  father-in-law  chucked  round  her 
neck  like  a  millstone  from  behind." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  Daddy  dear !  But  though  I  have 
never  said  anything  to  Janey  about  it,  I  told  Mr.  Spencer  what 
you  said  about  there  being  enough  and  more  than  enough,  even  if 
I  didn't  succeed  in  my  profession,  and  that  you  said  there  would 
be  always  this  house,  anyhow — of  course  he  understood  you 
wouldn't  be  turned  into  the  street " 

a  How  do  you  know  that,  Nipper  ?  Didn't  the  Prodigal  Son 
heave  his  Grandfather  out  of  a  fourth  story,  or  something? 
Maybe  I've  got  it  wrong — or  the  Reverend  Capstick  had?  But  it 
all  comes  round  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end.  Instead  of  offer- 
ing your  'and  and  'art  to  Miss  Janey,  you  should  have  said,  '  I 
am  your  devoted  lover.  Will  you  come  (after  Church,  of  course) 
and  live  with  me  and  my  sickenin'  old  guv'nor,  and  lock  up  the 
whiskey-bottle  when  he's  visibly  had  too  much  ? ' " 

"  Oh,  Dad,  Dad,  Dad,  dear  old  Dad — I  believe  you're  laughing 
all  the  while !  Why,  one  of  the  very  first  things  Janey  said  to  me 
was  that  I  never  could  leave  my  Father.  There  now ! " 

"  On  which  account  matrimony  be  blowed !  That  was  what  Miss 
Janey  hadn't  quite  the  'art  to  say,  or  she'd  have  said  it,  'cos  she 
meant  it.  But  it's  all  right,  Nipper  dear !  As  I  said  afore,  sootes 
of  Chambers  are  sootes  of  Chambers — or  if  not,  there's  any  num- 
ber of  eligible  residences  within  a  radius.  There's  the  Post." 

Whenever  the  Post  is  heard  conversation  suspends  itself 
naturally,  until  the  said  Post,  or  what  it  has  unburdened  its  con- 
science of,  is  brought  in.  Weakness  and  Impatience  sometimes 
run  out  to  meet  it,  and  sometimes  come  back  crestfallen  on  find- 
ing it  was  only  for  the  cook;  or  a  circular.  In  this  case,  during 
the  pause,  I  picked  up  Lossie's  letter,  and  read  the  remainder. 

" — would  be  good  for  your  Father,  and  would  keep  him  from 
the  Whiskey-bottle.  Dear  Joe,  I  know  how  hard  it  must  seem  to 
you  to  place  any  feeling  above  your  love  for  your  Father,  for  I 
know  how  you  love  him.  But  ask  yourself  what  you  owe  to  the 
woman  who  gives  herself  and  her  life  away  to  you  without  reserve — 
think  of  the  risks  she  runs  for  your  sake — think  how  her  whole 


JOSEPH  VANCE  255 

future  depends  on  it.  According  to  my  idea  the  slightest  taint 
of  bargain-making  on  the  part  of  either  is  wrong  even  when 
prompted  by  love  for  a  parent.  Such  a  motive,  of  course,  is  better 
than  property-mongering — it  is  without  the  vulgarities  of  hard 
cash  and  titledom — but  it's  wrong  in  principle  and  fact,  and  noth- 
ing can  make  it  right.  Kemember,  I  write  all  this  wondering  how 
on  earth,  if  you  love  Janey  at  all,  you  can  stop  short  of  loving  her 
outright.  It  must  be  like  trying  to  stop  running  down  a  steep 
hill.  .  .  . 

"I  could  go  on  writing  ever  so  long  about  it,  but  one  must 
draw  a  line.  Do  think  of  what  I  say.  I  know  you  will  be  a  dear 
boy  anyhow,  even  if  you  do  get  a  bit  puzzled. — Only  space  on  the 
paper  for  Hugh's  love  with  mine. 

"  Your  affect. 

"LOSSIE." 

"  Two  letters  for  you,"  said  my  Father,  analyzing  the  Post. 
"Four  for  me.  One  for  'Ickman.  One  for  Clementina — here's 
your  young  man  wrote  round  to  say  he's  got  another  gurl  and 
don't  want  you.  Catch  it!  Yours  looks  like  Miss  Spencer's  'and. 
You  catch  it!" — and  my  Father  threw  the  letter  across  the  table 
to  me. 

"  Hullo !  "  said  I.  "  Why,  I  saw  her  at  eleven  o'clock  last  night." 
I  opened  the  letter  in  trepidation,  feeling  things  had  gone  wrong. 
The  first  two  words  made  me  think  I  must  be  mistaken,  and  then 
reading  on  I  saw  I  wasn't. 

"  DEAREST  JOSEPH  :  I  feel  I  ought  to  lose  no  time  in  telling  you 
the  conclusion  I  have  come  to  about  our  engagement.  No  marriage 
ought  to  take  place  when  either  party  doubts  its  being  for  the 
happiness  of  both.  Are  you  confident  of  yours  and  mine?  I  am 
confident  of  neither.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  have  been  mistaken, 
and  that  all  we  can  do  now  is  to  let  bygones  be  bygones.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  I  blame  myself — for  I  feel  I  am  the  one  to  blame — 
nor  how  humbly  I  ask  your  forgiveness. 

"Do  not  suppose  that  it  is  only  Mrs.  Desprez's  letter  that  has 
done  this — least  of  all  that  I  should  be  hurt  by  thinking  that  your 
affection  for  your  Father,  and  your  wish  to  add  to  his  comforts, 
had  had  an  influence  over  you.  I  should  only  love  you  the  better 
for  your  love  of  him.  But  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  write  ex- 
actly the  reasons  why  I  feel  I  am  right  in  breaking  faith  with  you 
and  refusing  to  become  your  wife.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  really 


256  JOSEPH  VANCE 

know  them  myself.     I  do  know  that  I  am  acting  with  a  thought 
for  your  welfare,  as  well  as  mine. 

"I  will  not  justify  myself  lest  you  should  answer  me  with  argu- 
ments, and  persuade  me  to  marry  you  against  my  own  conviction 
of  what  is  best  for  us  both.  Do  not  come  to  see  me.  Although 
I  am  forced  to  behave  in  this  way,  I  hope  and  pray  that  you  will 
always  think  of  me  as  your  most  affectionate  friend, 

"JANE  SPENCER." 

"  Anything  disagreed,  Joey  ? "  said  my  Father,  looking  up  from 
a  letter  he  was  anticipating  Hickman  over,  with  occasional  grunts. 
"  Got  the  stummick-ache  ?  Have  a  little  drop  of  the  Objection- 
able? Put  that  dam  bottle  back  on  the  table,  Celestina." 

"Oh  no!  It's  all  right— at  least  it  will  be  all  right.  It's  noth- 
ing." On  which  my  Father,  after  looking  attentively  at  me  for  a 
few  seconds,  poured  out  a  glass  from  the  recovered  bottle.  I  took 
it,  partly  with  a  vain  idea  of  preventing  his  drinking  it  himself; 
whereupon  he  poured  himself  out  another,  and  what  I  took  of  mine 
certainly  did  me  no  good — it  never  did. 

I  wanted  very  much  to  conceal  things  from  him;  at  any  rate 
until  I  had  seen  Janey.  But  it  was  no  use,  for  next  day  came 
another  letter  manifestly  directed  by  Janey;  and  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  hide  the  facts,  as  it  came  by  registered  post  and  my  Father 
signed  for  it  It  contained  the  engagement  ring  I  had  given 
Janey,  enclosed  in  a  paper  on  which  was  written  "  With  the  love 
of  a  dear  Friend."  Nothing  else. 

I  did  not  feel  on  the  receipt  of  this  letter  anything  resembling 
what  I  had  felt  when  Dr.  Thorpe  told  me  Lossie  was  engaged.  I 
absolutely  retained  self-command,  and  was  more  piqued  and  angry 
than  anything  else;  but  more  with  myself  than  with  Janey.  It 
was  Joe  No.  2  who  perceived  that  Janey  was  not  the  only  single 
girl  in  creation,  and  that  there  were  more  fish  in  the  sea  than  ever 
came  out  of  it.  I  resented  this  piece  of  irritability  though  I  for- 
gave Joe  No.  2  for  expressing  his  feelings  on  the  ground  of  his 
having  been  taken  by  surprise.  I  found  this  quite  consistent  with 
loving  Janey  more  than  ever,  and  even  allowing  that  she  was 
perfectly  right.  I  refused  to  myself  to  give  up  seeing  her  again 
with  a  view  to  her  conversion. 

I  did  succeed  in  doing  so  after  importunity.  But  poor  Janey, 
though  she  went  as  white  as  a  sheet,  refused  concession.  And 
when  I  broke  into  a  final  appeal  in  which  I  exhausted  all  my 
powers  of  persuasion,  she  gave  way  to  a  flood  of  tears  and  cried 
out,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Vance,  Mr.  Vance,  you  have  no  right  to  press  me 


JOSEPH  VANCE  257 

so — you  have  no  right."  And  then  hearing  her  Father's  footstep 
outside  at  this  moment  she  called  to  him.  "  Papa — Papa !  Do 
come  in  and  help  me!"  and  in  reply  to  his  "What  is  it,  dear? — 
tell  me  what's  the  matter,"  threw  herself  into  his  arms  and  be- 
tween her  sobs  said,  "  Help  me  to  tell  him  I  cannot  marry  him, 
and  make  him  believe  it." 

"If  ever  Janey  changes,"  said  Mr.  Spencer,  "or  seems  to,  I 
will  let  you  know.  But  she  seems  to  me  quite  in  earnest.  My 
poor  boy,"  added  he  kindly,  "  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  about 
it  all.  I  think  we  had  better  say  good-bye  now." 

And  I  walked  home  all  the  way  from  Hampstead  to  Clapham — 
in  fact,  I  went  a  long  way  round  quite  needlessly.  And  all 
through  that  long  walk  my  mind  went  on  concocting  and  reciting 
the  account  of  all  these  things  that  I  meant  to  write  out  by  the 
next  mail — to  Lossie! 


CHAPTER  XXX 

JOE  COULD  BEAR  TO  LOSE  JANEY.  OF  THE  SPHERICAL  ENGINE  AND  HIS 
NEW  PROVISIONAL.  AND  PRING.  HOW  JOE'S  FATHER  WILL  BUILD 
HIM  AN  ENGINEERING  WORKSHOP.  THE  MACALLISTER  REPEATER,  AND 
JOE'S  PARTNERSHIP  WITH  BONY.  MRS.  BONY?S  BABY.  MR.  BONY 
ON  ENGAGEMENTS,  AND  HOW  HE  DID  IT.  OF  A  CONFESSION  OF 
PHEENER'S.  AND  HOW  OLD  VANCE  GOT  VERY  DRUNK.  EHEU!  JOE 
GOES  TO  SEEK  SOLACE  FROM  DR.  THORPE. 

I  FELT  dreadfully — dreadfully — ashamed  of  myself  in  the  days 
that  followed.  I  began  slowly  to  see  that  I  had  really  never  con- 
sidered Janey  at  all,  all  through!  I  was  still  too  young  to  know 
that  my  fellow-vermin  very  rarely  show  any  consideration  what- 
ever for  their  females  under  like  circumstances. 

It  was  very  odd  that  I  had  gone  on  for  so  many  years  consider- 
ing Lossie  everything,  and  my  Self  only  a  casual  Planetoid  or 
Satellite  of  no  importance ;  and  here  in  a  little  three  months,  I  had 
mustered  the  presumption  to  ask  Janey  Spencer  for  what  I  should 
hardly  have  dared  to  think  of  asking  of  Lossie.  For  indeed, 
Janey's  own  description  of  my  attitude  of  mind  ahout  Lossie  was 
the  true  one ;  I  simply  "  could  not  bear "  to  lose  her.  Now,  I 
found  it  very  hard,  at  first,  to  lose  Janey — but  still,  I  could  bear  it. 

I  speculated  on  these  points  until  I  became  quite  alive  to  the 
fact  that  Janey  was  getting  dim.  Just  as  when  one  leaves  behind 
the  lights  of  another  ship  that  for  the  moment  have  obscured  the 
lighthouse  that  saw  us  out  of  port,  just  so  Janey  died  away  and 
Lossie's  illumination  beamed  out  steadily  into  the  darkness. 
Memories  of  Lossie  came  back  to  me  and  found  me  a  sadder  and  a 
wiser  man. 

However,  I  consoled  myself  with  the  Spherical  Engine,  and 
writing  letters  to  Lossie.  By  the  time  my  Provisional  had  ex- 
pired, and  I  had  to  render  a  complete  specification  to  go  with  the 
application  for  a  full  Patent,  I  had  added  many  improvements, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  make  an  application  for  each  of  them 
separately  or  for  all  together,  but  under  no  circumstances  could 
they  be  included  as  a  portion  of  the  original  invention  in  the 
Patent.  I  was,  however,  at  liberty  to  make  a  new  Provisional 

258 


JOSEPH  VANCE  253 

Application  for  the  whole  thing.  There  was  a  disadvantage.  If 
any  one  else  had  by  accident  himself  invented  my  machine  during 
the  Provisional  period  and  registered  it,  his  Provisional  would 
be  held  to  have  antedated  mine,  and  I  should  lose  everything.  I 
decided  to  run  the  risk  involved. 

I  got  by  this  procedure  nine  months  clear  to  incorporate  my 
fresh  developments.  According  to  Pring,  these  were  all  his  own 
suggestion,  and  indeed  I  must  say  he  showed  an  alacrity  in  claim- 
ing paternity  that  was  almost  as  good  as  the  real  thing. 

"  Just  my  idear ! "  was  his  invariable  remark  whenever  I  an- 
nounced any  new  and  important  variation.  "Wot  I've  been  say- 
ing all  along."  And  I  am  certain  that  Pring  was  honestly  unable 
to  distinguish  between  the  reception  of  a  new  idea  and  the  re- 
vival of  an  old  one.  He  was  like  the  boy  Socrates  converted  to  a 
belief  in  his  own  pre-knowledge  of  Geometry. 

Not  that  he  adhered  to  his  claims  of  paternity  when  the  birth 
turned  out  an  abortive  one.  He  then  asked  what  did  he  tell  me 
all  along?  And  hadn't  he  said  there  was  sure  to  be  a  back-lash? 
And  it  wasn't  his  fault  if  after  all  we  got  'ung  up  by  overheating 
in  that  bearing.  He'd  made  himself  'oarse  talking  about  it, — and 
so  forth.  But  the  net  outcome  of  it  all  was  that  the  Engine  made 
progress. 

What  did  not  make  progress  was  my  selection  of  a  profession. 
The  obvious  thing  would  have  been  for  me  to  become  a  partner  in 
my  Father's  business.  But  I  was  very  lukewarm  about  this,  and 
he  positively  objected  to  it.  "The  Nipper  would  spoil  it  all," 
said  he,  "  with  his  ideas  and  notions."  He  looked  upon  invention 
and  origination  as  likely  to  be  fatal  to  the  construction  of  build- 
ings. According  to  him  any  builder  who  tried  anything  un- 
common was  already  due  in  bankruptcy.  "Becos,  see  what 
happens  if  you  so  much  as  ask  a  carpenter  to  put  in  an  extra  brad. 
You're  a  thousand  pounds  outside  your  contract  that  minute, 
afore  ever  you  know  where  you  are.  In  buildin'  never  you  let  any 
man  do  any  job  he  hasn't  done  before — he'll  make  a  'ash  of  it! 
Any  man  presoomin'  to  do  anything  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
ought  to  go  before  the  Beak  and  be  bound  over."  And  of  course 
my  Father  thought  my  ideas  and  notions  would  foster  such  pre- 
sumption. In  reply  to  my  remonstrance  that  there  must  be  a  first 
time  to  everything,  he  merely  remarked,  "  On  another  Job  " — and 
seemed  satisfied  with  his  position. 

One  evening  when  my  father  and  I  were  sitting  with  Dr. 
Thorpe,  after  dining  at  Poplar  Villa,  the  latter  spoke  plainly  out 
about  his  own  views  on  the  subject  of  my  profession.  "Why 


260  JOSEPH  VANCE 

can't  you  go  in,  in  earnest,  Joe,  for  the  thing  you're  always 
dabbling  in,  and  spending  your  Father's  money  on?  Take  up 
Engineering  and  hammer  away  at  it  like  mad." 

"Well— of  course  that's  what  I  should  like  to  do.  Only  I 
thought  a  Profession  ought  to  be  a  Bore — not  a  Pleasure." 

"  Greatest  mistake  in  the  world,  Joe." 

"  Then  there's  another  difficulty,  Doctor — I  can't  get  any  one  to 
teach  me  anything." 

"  Can't  they  teach  you  anything  at  McGaskin  and  Flack's  ? " 

"McGaskin  and  Flack's,"  I  echoed  with  tremendous  scorn — 
"  why,  they  know  nothing  themselves.  I  have  to  tell  them  every- 
thing, and  then  they  do  it  wrong."  I  proceeded  to  give  a  sketch 
of  this  Firm,  to  which  I  ascribed  abnormal  ignorance  and  very 
inferior  plant.  I  had  been  in  collision  with  Pring  that  morning 
on  the  subject  of  screwing  lathes:  on  whom  I  had  discharged  all 
the  knowledge  I  had  lately  got  from  a  paper  read  before  the  Insti- 
tute by  a  very  advanced  German,  who,  if  I  remember  rightly,  could 
make  a  screw  that  only  travelled  one  way,  rendering  lock-nuts 
things  of  the  past. 

"  Couldn't  you  find  him  out  and  get  him  to  take  a  pupil  ? "  said 
the  Doctor.  "  Howsomever,  Joe,  if  nobody  can  teach  you  any- 
thing until  he  knows  how  to  make  a  screw  like  that,  you  must  be 
pretty  well  informed.  Now,  why  can't  you  do  this  way?  Most 
likely  there's  some  corner  at  the  works  your  Father  could  spare 
room  in " 

My  Father  was  adjusting  a  bandana  handkerchief  over  his 
head  to  go  to  sleep  under.  "  There  isn't,"  said  he,  "  elbow-room  for 
a  one-armed  man  to  blow  his  nose  in  at  present."  Dr.  Thorpe 
looked  thwarted.  "But  I  might  make  an  'andy  shop  for  you," 
went  on  my  Father,  "by  jackin'  up  the  roof  on  the  main  buildin', 
and  addin'  a  story.  There  wouldn't  be  any  great  trouble  go  with 
that."  Dr.  Thorpe  looked  greatly  relieved,  and  my  Father  drew 
the  bandana  over  his  head  and  went  balmily  to  sleep. 

"  There,  you  see,  Joe !  And  your  Father  was  saying  he'd  got 
more  Power  than  he  could  use.  So  you  would  have  nothing  to  do 
but  find  a  clever  foreman,  who  would  understand  about  paying 
wages." 

u  I  could  pay  wages." 

"You  can  do  Differential  Calculus,  Joe,  I've  no  doubt.  But 
don't  run  away  with  the  idea  that  you  can  pay  men  wages.  It's 
the  last  acquisition  of  human  experience."  And  my  Father  mur- 
mured in  his  sleep,  "  Never  you  do  anything  yourself." 

The  foregoing  fragment  of  after-dinner  chat  at  the  Doctor's 


JOSEPH  VANCE  261 

sketches  out  very  nearly  what  did  happen.  In  fact,  my  Father 
provided  me  with  all  the  means  of  starting  Mechanical  Engineer- 
ing on  my  own  account,  and  though  I  spent  a  great  deal  of  money 
on  inventions,  still  with  my  Father's  shrewdness  to  back  me  I  was 
able  to  make  a  fair  show  of  covering  the  outlay  and  even  clearing 
a  small  profit.  But  these  were  merely  inventions-by-the-way,  as 
they  may  be  called.  They  belonged  to  a  contemptible  class  of  con- 
trivances, and  their  objects  were  to  sift  and  grind,  to  produce 
cleanness  and  comfort,  or  to  save  needless  labour.  A  new  device 
was  on  the  road  having  a  nobler  object,  that  of  destroying  human 
life  at  a  small  expense  and  a  great  distance.  This  was  the  source 
of  a  good  deal  of  emolument,  and  the  development  of  it  to  the 
highest  degree  of  perfection  that  any  Repeating  Rifle  had  then 
attained  gave  the  keenest  pleasure  to  its  joint  Inventors,  neither  of 
whom  was  capable  of  murder,  though  each  felt  satisfaction  at  the 
existence  of  foreigners  as  raisons-d'etre  for  arms  of  precision, 
without  whom  we  should  have  had  to  resort  to  Civil  War,  a  shock- 
ing expedient. 

Did  I  mention  that  Bony  Macallister  was  also  in  the  Engineer- 
ing line,  or  was  I  too  busy  with  other  matters  when  I  wrote  of 
him  ?  I  think  the  latter.  Anyhow,  Bony  and  I  were  great  chums, 
and  ended  by  going  into  partnership  over  the  Macallister  Re- 
peater— as  I  insisted  on  its  being  called,  after  him.  It  is  for- 
gotten now,  and  a  living  sentinel  can  be  sniped,  and  his  thoughts 
about  his  home  cut  short,  nearly  two  miles  farther  off.  For  we 
live  in  a  great  Age.  But  while  it  lasted  the  run  on  the  Macallister 
Repeater  was  phenomenal. 

The  first;  of  these  horrors  was  completed  by  us  on  my  twenty- 
fourth  birthday.  It  was  not  brought  to  the  notice  (or,  at  least, 
driven  home  to  the  notice)  of  the  War  Office  till  General  Desprez's 
return  from  India  some  time  after.  But  there  it  was,  a  highly 
finished  and  perfect  instrument,  for  us  to  gloat  over,  as  Nolly  used 
to  gloat  over  his  bat.  And  there  was  I,  one  November  afternoon  I 
remember  well,  gloating  over  it  in  a  rocking-chair  in  my  Father's 
Snuggery,  while  Bony  poured  out  the  tea. 

"When's  that  tea  coming,  Bony?"  said  I.    "Look  alive !" 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  said  Bony.     "  Fly  in  the  milk." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Bony.  I'm  sure  that  oval  ought  to  be  decimal 
point  nought  one  less  on  the  short  diameter " 

"He  will  kick  so  confoundedly,  or  I  could  get  him  out.  Isn't 
that  a  good  deal?" 

"Well— say  ought  nine  nine.  Why  don't  you  take  the  handle 
of  the  spoon?" 


262  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  I've  got  him !  But  he's  brought  a  long  striggle  of  cream  out 
with  him — he's  tied  up  in  it.  I  don't  see  that  we  can  tell  anything 
about  it  until  it's  been  properly  tested  at  the  Butts.  I'll  put  a 
little  lukewarm  water  over  him,  and  that  '11  get  him  clear." 

"  Not  too  hot,  you  booby.  When  can  Rawlings  meet  us  at  the 
Scrubs?" 

"  There's  a  letter  from  him — you  open  it.  I  say,  look  here ! 
The  beggar's  all  free  except  one  leg " 

"Hm— hm— hm!  Not  before  Thursday— what  a  bore!  When's 
that  tea  coming,  Bony  ? " 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry !  You're  such  a  hard-hearted  chap.  Give 
the  poor  beggar  time  to  get  his  leg  out." 

"You've  no  need  to  stick  there  looking  at  him.  You  pour  the 
tea— I'll  see  he's  all  right." 

And  two  young  men  drank  two  cups  of  tea  as  they  watched 
with  animation  the  return  of  that  fly  to  the  active  duties  of  life. 
As  soon  as  the  convalescent  had  drunk  the  milk  off  his  person, 
and  flown  away  clear,  their  attention  was  undividedly  given  to  the 
implement  of  Hell  which  had  absorbed  it  for  more  than  a  year. 
But  even  that  flagged,  and  another  topic  dawned. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  christen  that  Baby,  Bony  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Macallister's  Baby  ? "  For  Bony  was  married !  His  very 
long  engagement  had  terminated  some  months  before,  and  the 
young  couple  had  availed  themselves  of  their  power  to  add  to  their 
number  like  a  Committee,  and  the  new  member  was  expected  very 
shortly.  Bony  had  the  meanness  to  try  to  shuffle  the  whole  re- 
sponsibility on  his  wife,  always  speaking  of  the  expected  article 
as  Mrs.  Macallister's  Baby. 

"I  want  it  to  be  Jeannie,"  said  he.  "  Jeannie  wants  it  to  be 
Archie " 

"  You'll  have  to  make  some  concession  about  the  sex." 

"  That's  where  it  is !  We  don't  want  the  same  sex.  She  wants 
a  he — I  want  a  her.  I  expect  she'll  get  her  way.  Women  always 
do ! "  I  contributed  a  remark  that  Time  would  show,  and  felt 
sagacious. 

"I  say,  Joseph,"  said  Bony,  with  the  tone  of  one  who  is  really 
approaching  a  subject,  "  whatever  possessed  you  to  make  such  a 
fool  of  yourself  about  Janey  Spencer  two  years  ago  ? " 

"  7  didn't  make  a  fool  of  myself,  my  dear  boy.  My  Creator  had 
anticipated  me.  You  see  I  was  left  in  his  hands  (as  the  Doctor 
says)  when  I  was  non-existent  and  couldn't  speak  for  myself.  Be- 
sides, is  one  a  fool  for  asking  such  a  nice  girl  as  Janey  to  marry 
one?" 


JOSEPH  VANCE  263 

"You  know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean." 

"No — Archibald.  I  do  not.  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  what 
you  mean." 

"  May  I  take  away,  Sir  ? "  This  of  course  was  Pheener  for  the 
tea-things.  Nemine  contradicente,  she  culminated  and  sub- 
sided, closing  the  door  on  more  or  less  tobacco  smoke  as  she 
retired. 

"Yes — you  have,"  resumed  Archibald.  "You  know  I  mean 
why  on  earth  did  you  make  such  a  muddle  of  the  whole  thing? 
Because  you  did.  A  most  disgraceful  muddle.  You  know  quite 
well  you  were  very  sorry  when  she  chucked  you." 

"  How  do  you  know  anything  about  it  ? " 

"  Why,  of  course,  Janey  told  Jeannie,  and  Jeannie  told  me. 
Of  course  I  promised  not  to  tell." 

"And  of  course  you've  told!  But  what  does  your  wife  think 
was  Miss  Spencer's  reason  for  breaking  it  off  ? " 

"  Because  you  didn't  go  about  it  the  right  way." 

"  Which  is  the  right  way?    What  did  you  say ? " 

"What  did  I  say?  Nothing  at  all!  That's  just  the  point.  I 
expect  you  palavered  too  much." 

"But,  Bony!  You  must  have  said  something — or  perhaps  you 
wrote  a  letter  ?  " 

"  The  idea !  A  letter,  indeed !  However,  if  you  want  to  know, 
I'll  tell  you.  We'd  been  having  great  fun  at  her  Father's  that 
evening — you  came  at  the  end  of  September,  wasn't  it?  Well! 
This  was  Midsummer  full  moon  I  know.  Jeannie  came  down  the 
garden  path  to  see  me  off  the  premises — you  know  the  path  outside 
that  conservatory  passage  place — and  when  we  got  to  the  gate 
Jeannie  gathered  a  rose  to  stick  in  my  buttonhole  and  got  rather 

close  because  it  didn't  work  in  easy,  and  I "  The  narrative 

hitched  very  slightly  and  I  supplied  the  hiatus. 

"You'd  better  confess  it  all  while  you're  about  it,  old  chap. 
Now,  on  your  honour !  How  often  did  you  kiss  Jeannie  ? " 

"  I  didn't  count  'em,  old  boy,"  said  Bony,  looking  rather  guilty. 
"P'r'aps  Jeannie  recollects.  We  heard  my  present  Mother-in- 
law  coming  after  us,  and  I  got  away.  But  it  established  a  mutual 
understanding,  and  made  explanations  only  necessary  to  by- 
standers. Old  Mac  was  rather  in  a  rage  and  said  he  couldn't  bear 
anything  underhand.  I  can't  see  that  there  was  anything  under- 
hand about  it.  Jeannie  was  there,  and  I  was  there,  and  what 
more  could  you  want?" 

"  What,  indeed !  But  you  know,  Bony  dear,  people  are  different. 
For  one  thing  Janey  was  twenty,  and  Jeannie 


264  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  Seventeen.  But  I  don't  believe  it  was  that,  Joseph.  I  don't 
believe  you  were  quite  in  earnest." 

"I  think  I  was  though,"  said  I,  weakly.  And  Bony  riposted 
incisively — "  Stuff  and  nonsense !  No  one  thinks  he's  in  earnest. 
He  knows  he  is,  or  he  knows  he  isn't." 

"You  think  that  I  ought  to  have  gone  about  it  the  way  you 
did." 

"I  don't  know  that.  But  I  do  think  you  ought  to  have  been 
quite  unable  to  help  going  about  it  that  way  under  the  same 
circumstances,  and  I'm  afraid  you  weren't.  Hookey,  how  late  it 
is!  Jeannie  expects  me  home  early  to  dress  for  dinner  at 
Phillipses." 

I  sat  in  the  half -dark  when  Bony  had  gone,  wondering  how  far 
his  belief  was  right.  I  could  picture  to  myself  the  summer  night, 
the  leafy  hush  of  the  still  garden,  the  smell  of  the  roses,  and  the 
lovely  face  that  the  crying  need  for  one  in  his  buttonhole  had 
brought  so  near  to  his  own — and  the  natural  consequences!  How 
could  it  have  been  otherwise?  But  change  the  characters!  It 
seemed  disloyal — in  feeling — to  try  such  an  experiment  of  im- 
agination on  poor  Janey.  But  how  should  I  have  behaved?  Let 
me  shut  my  eyes  and  think — Well!  honestly  now,  I  believe,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  might  have  done  the  very  selfsame  thing. 

"  But,"  cried  Joe  No.  2,  breaking  a  long  silence,  "  could  you  not 
have  shaken  hands  decorously,  like  a  well-behaved  young  gentle- 
man ?  If  you  had  tried,  mind  you,  if  you  had  tried  ? "  I  owned  I 
thought  I  might,  with  self-restraint. 

"  But  then,"  cried  he  again,  and  I  flinched  at  what  was  coming, 
"  how  if  it  had  been  Lossie?  " 

Yes,  that  was  the  question!     How  if  it  had  been  Lossie? 

I  sat  on  in  the  twilight,  forgetting  everything,  even  the  Mac- 
allister  Repeater,  dreaming  of  a  past  that  for  the  moment  became 
more  real  than  my  surroundings — more  real  than  myself,  for  that 
matter. 

I  was  brought  to  by  a  recrudescence  of  Pheener  with  the  lamp. 
I  was  not  grateful,  for  though  I  was  aware  of  the  necessity  for 
the  existence  of  a  sad  young  man  in  the  dark  (to  do  the  recollect- 
ing), still  the  things  he  remembered  were  happiness  such  as  he 
could  not  make  Hope  beckon  out  of  the  future;  and  for  the 
moment  the  whole  of  the  present  had  slipped  away. 

"Cook  says,  Sir,"  said  Pheener,  when  she  had  established  the 
Lamp,  "  shall  she  put  the  soles  down  to  do,  or  wait  any  longer  for 
Master?" 


JOSEPH  VANCE  265 

I  remembered  that  my  Father  had  said  something  about  being 
late  because  he  was  on  an  Arbitration  job  and  he  was  acting  j'intly 
with  a  couple  of  other  charackters  in  the  Building  line,  and  he 
couldn't  be  sure  how  long  they  mightn't  go  on  fooling.  He  im- 
plied that,  if  alone,  he  would  make  short  work  of  any  decision  as 
dinner-time  approached.  In  fact,  he  had  an  infallible  guide  for 
all  Referees.  "Be  as  unfair  as  you  can  to  'em  all!  Make  'em 
swear  at  you,  one  same  as  t'other!  In  six  weeks  they'll  be  saying 
give  me  Wance  for  an  Arbitrator ! " 

"  Let's  see  what  o'clock  it  is  now,  Pheener,"  said  I.  And  it  had 
actually  gone  eight.  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.  But  there's 
nothing  that  will  spoil  ?  " 

"  Oh  law,  no,  Master  Joseph.     It's  only  soles  and  rumpsteak." 

"  Suppose  we  wait  till  half -past  and  give  him  a  chance."  And 
Pheener  departed  to  tell  the  cook. 

We  gave  him  the  chance,  and  as  he  did  not  return  I  devoured 
one  of  the  soles,  and  disfigured  the  rumpsteak,  under  the  inspec- 
tion of  Pheener.  Nothing  is  more  hateful  than  gormandizing 
under  a  supervision  which  you  know  is  taking  stock  of  your 
generosity  or  stinginess,  in  grabbing  the  best  bits  for  yourself  or 
leaving  them  for  later  comers.  Of  course  one  hopes  they  have 
another  piece  of  steak  all  to  themselves  in  the  kitchen — but  the 
principle  is  the  same.  I  tried  to  keep  down  the  Socialisms  that 
boiled  up  within  me,  urging  me  to  ask  Pheener  to  share  the 
banquet,  by  chatting  amiably  with  her  about  the  state  of  trade  and 
so  forth.  It  softened  the  invidious  inequality. 

"I  hope  the  Soles  are  cheaper  than  they  were,  Pheener?" 
For,  with  nobody  to  countenance  me,  I  felt  I  was  Lucullus. 

"Indeed  they're  not,  Master  Joseph.  These  were  two  and 
three."  I  thought  I  would  change  the  subject. 

"  What's  become  of  that  chap  that  had  to  be  taken  to  the  Police 
Station  very  carefully  because  he'd  cut  his  throat  and  they  were 
afraid  the  bandages  wouldn't  hold  ? " 

"  Oh — that  Henderson  chap  ?  The  magistrate  cautioned  him, 
and  he  promised  not  to  do  it  again.  But  he  was  back  at  the  Court 
three  days  after  for  feloniously  intermarrying  Mrs.  Henderson, 
his  first  wife  being  still  alive." 

"  Gracious,  Pheener !  You  don't  mean  to  say  he  went  and  got 
married  with  his  throat  in  that  state ! " 

"Law  no,  Master  Joseph,  of  course  not!  He's  been  married 
twenty-two  years  and  got  fourteen  children.  And  the  first  party 
she  turned  up  intoxicated,  and  said  she'd  have  his  liver  out.  So 
he  tried  to  cut  his  throat." 


266  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  I  don't  see  that  any  other  course  was  open  to  him." 

"  Beg  pardon,  Master  Joseph  ? " 

"Don't  see  what  else  the  poor  chap  could  do.  But  there  was 
a  Henderson  who  did  plumber's  work  for  the  Governor — is  he  a 
relation  ?" 

"  Oh  yes — he's  his  brother.  But  that's  no  rule !  "  And  then 
Pheener  went  on  without  solving  an  enigma  that  forced  itself  into 
my  mind.  "7  call  it  all  a  fuss  about  nothing — I  should  lock  her 
up !  "  I  let  the  enigma  alone  in  favour  of  a  question  I  wanted  to 
ask  Pheener.  I  was  convinced  my  Father  had  dined  out  some- 
where, and  would  be  late,  and  I  thought  it  a  good  opportunity. 

"  I  say,  Pheener !  The  other  day — you  know  what  I  mean — was 
your  Master ?"  I  hesitated. 

"  Yes,  Master  Joseph — I'm  afraid  he  was.  Not  much,  you  know, 
but  a  little." 

"  I  know.  But,  Pheener,  do  tell  me !  What  was  it  making  you 
all  laugh  in  the  kitchen?" 

Pheener's  manner  changed,  and  she  stood  looking  at  the  pattern 
on  the  carpet,  and  winding  and  unwinding  an  apron-tape  on  her 
finger. 

"  Did  you  hear  us,  Master  Joseph  ? " 

"Yes,  Pheener— do  tell  me!" 

"You  mustn't  be  angry " 

"  Angry  with  you  ?     Indeed  I  won't !  " 

"I  didn't  mean  me.    I  meant  the  Master." 

"With  my  Father?  I  promise  you  I  won't.  Only  tell  me!" 
Pheener  hesitated  still  a  little,  and  then  said :  "  He  had  only  said 
what  he's  said  before — once  or  twice. — Whenever  he  gets — like 
that,  you  know,  he  wants  me  to  marry  him.  Do  please  not  be 
angry,  Master  Joseph." 

I  won't  disguise  that  I  was  a  little  shocked — but  I  do  hope  I 
didn't  show  it  too  plainly. 

"What  did  you  say  to  him,  Pheener?"  said  I  after  a  pause — 
rather  a  long  one. 

"  I  said  he  wasn't  sober,  and  he  said  he  was  all  right,  as  far  as 
that  went.  But  he  wasn't,  and  he  never  is  when  he  says  things. 
And  then  he  wanted  to  know  what  I  should  have  said  if  he  had 
been  sober." 

I  really  could  hardly  keep  back  a  smile.  My  poor  dear  old 
Dad!  "I  say,  Pheener,"  said  I.  "Tell  me  the  truth  now  and 
I  won't  be  angry.  What  would  you  have  said  ? " 

"  Oh,  Master  Joseph,  do  only  think  how  I  nursed  the  Missis — 
and  how  I've  seen  to  his  linen  all  these  years — and  how  I've  tried 


JOSEPH  VANCE  261 

(and  I  have  tried)  to  put  away  the  Whiskey-bottle "  and  Phee* 

ner  burst  into  tears. 

"  Bubbubut,"  said  she,  through  her  sobs,  "  I  wouwouldn't  say 
yes,  and  I  wowon't  say  yes,  as  long  as  he's  the  least — like  that! 
And  he'll  never  say  it  when  he's  sober,"  said  she,  clearing  up. 
"  So  where's  the  use  of  talking  ?  " 

And  Pheeiier  wiped  her  eyes  and  brought  the  pudding. 

I  couldn't  see  the  use  of  talking  either.  So  I  merely  said  a 
word  or  two  of  absolution  to  the  poor  girl — it  was  no  fault  of 
hers ! — and  lit  a  cigar  as  she  brought  in  the  coffee. 

I  was  so  near  having  to  dry  my  own  eyes  once  or  twice  as  I 
sat  there  thinking,  that  I  should  not  have  been  sorry  for  a  visitor. 
However,  none  came,  so  there  I  sate,  and  to  take  my  mind  off 
more  painful  themes,  wondered  what  Mrs.  Macallister's  Baby 
would  be  like!  I  also  wondered  rather  timorously  what  Lossie's 
little  boy  was  like,  for  Lossie  had  one,  now  a  year  and  a  half  old. 
She  had  written  of  him,  at  the  date  of  his  debut.  "  He  is  so 
exactly  like  Hugh — he  really  only  wants  a  uniform  to  be  put  on 
the  staff  at  once.  Only  the  Regulations  are  so  strict  about  size ! " 
and  later  that  his  likeness  to  his  Father  had  gone  off  and  he  was 
getting  like  his  Uncle  Joey.  Then  I  made  myself  quite  needlessly 
uncomfortable  by  thinking,  suppose  I  am  ever  given  the  Baby  to 
play  with,  and  accidentally  drop  it  into  a  sewer,  or  sit  upon  it  a  long 
time  without  finding  it  out  and  smother  it,  how  shall  I  face  Bony  ? 
I  got  so  wretched  over  this  gratuitous  effort  of  self-torture  that 
to  shake  it  off  I  went  out  and  finished  my  cigar  in  the  street. 

As  I  returned  from  a  short  saunter  I  saw  a  hansom  cab  coming 
in  the  opposite  direction.  The  Fare  was  communicating  through 
his  lid,  and  the  driver  accepting  his  suggestions  after  eliciting 
confirmation ;  as  his  last  remark,  "  Not  if  you  don't  speak  plain," 
seemed  to  show.  He  then  added  that  he  wasn't  drunk,  for  one! 
This  seemed  to  carry  an  implication,  and  I  quickened  my  steps. 
I  was  just  in  time  to  help  my  Father  up,  for  his  foot  appeared  to 
catch  as  he  got  out,  and  he  stumbled  on  the  pavement. 

"He's  all  right,"  said  the  cabby,  with  a  kind  of  gratified  air, 
as  one  who  had  acquired  an  interest  in  a  patient.  And  then 
added  in  explanation  that  another  half -pint  would  do  it,  showing 
that  by  "  all  right "  he  really  meant  all  wrong.  If  he  had  been  a 
cabman  of  good  feeling  he  would  have  driven  away  on  receipt  of  a 
shilling  too  much,  instead  of  standing  at  the  door  as  if  his  part 
was  to  begin  again  soon,  like  the  drum  in  an  orchestra. 

I  got  my  Father  into  the  house,  and  heard  2002  and  his  horse, 
and  a  policeman  and  his  bull's-eye,  comparing  notes  for  several 


268  JOSEPH  VANCE 

minutes  after.     Then  they  dispersed  with  raised  voices  of  fare- 
well, and  wheels  rolled  one  way  and  hoots  tramped  the  other. 

My  poor  Dad  was  very  nearly  (if  not  quite)  quite  drunk — he 
was,  in  fact,  worse  than  I  remembered  seeing  him  since  one  or 
two  horrible  recollections  of  babyhood.  He  evidently  did  not  be- 
lieve he  had  tumbled  down,  but  he  thought  somebody  else  had, 
and  wanted  to  go  back  and  pick  them  up.  With  his  usual  candour 
he  admitted  his  shameful  condition,  but  seemed  consoled  by  re- 
flecting that  his  fellow  Arbitrators,  with  whom  he  had  dined, 
were  a  something  sight  worse  than  he.  He  said  I  should  have 
seen  them,  and  was  really  sorry  I  had  lost  the  opportunity.  I 
got  him  to  bed  and  locked  him  into  his  room,  and  went  to  rest 
myself  humiliated  and  heartbroken. 

Whether  I  was  wise  to  talk  about  it  to  Pheener  next  day,  I 
don't  know.  But  I  felt  so  lonesome  that  I  could  not  resist  seeking 
for  sympathy;  especially  in  a  quarter  where  the  ice  was  already 
broken,  and  no  further  harm  seemed  likely  to  be  done.  She  mado 
me  much  more  cheerful  by  making  light  of  the  occurrence.  I 
take  it  to  be  a  mark  of  the  tacit  respect  men  really  have  for 
women's  idea  of  right  and  wrong,  that  whenever  a  man  feels 
ashamed  of  himself  or  others,  nothing  is  so  consolatory  to  him  as 
to  be  pooh-poohed  by  female  authority. 

"  Only  think  now,"  said  she,  "  of  the  Master  tumbling  down  on 
the  pavement  and  never  knowing  it.  But  they  never  will  believe 
it,  not  if  it's  ever  so ! "  And  I  thought  I  remembered  more  than 
one  exactly  similar  occurrence  in  fiction.  There  was  something 
soothing  to  me  about  Pheener's  analysis  of  drunkenness;  although 
I  have  no  idea  why  I  deferred  to  a  kind  of  claim  on  her  part,  of 
knowing  more  about  it  than  I  did  myself.  Was  it  akin  to  Pring's 
parade  of  his  mathematical  ignorance  as  a  vantage  ground  for  the 
refutation  of  scientific  conclusions?  I  don't  believe  she  knew 
more  about  drunkenness  from  personal  experience  than  Pring 
did  about  mathematics.  But  both  took  a  superior  tone  with 
me. 

I  had  also  another  motive  than  want  of  sympathy  in  talking  to 
Pheener.  She  had  gone  up  very  high  in  my  estimation  from  her 
resolution  not  to  accept  my  Father  unless  he  offered  her  a  sober 
hand  and  heart.  How  many  young  women  in  her  position  would 
have  surrendered  at  discretion!  Consider  the  worldly  improve- 
ment to  a  girl  like  Pheener !  And  yet,  solely  from  her  regard  for 
him  and  his  dead  wife,  she  refused  to  jump  at  an  offer  made  in  an 
irresponsible  condition,  although  she  knew  perfectly  well  that  offer 


JOSEPH  VANCE  269 

would  be  held  binding.  Do  many  women  resist  temptation  on 
those  lines?  Do  any  men? 

I  felt  I  was  making  some  return  for  this  good  conduct  of 
Pheener,  by  showing  my  confidence  in  her,  and  talking  freely  on 
the  subject  that  interested  us  both. 

"  I  shan't  stop  and  see  him,  Pheener,"  said  I ;  "  I'd  better  not. 
I  should  go  out,  anyhow;  so  I  shall  go  out.  I'm  not  going  to 
Church — I  shall  go  for  a  walk."  Which  looks  as  if  my  birthday 
fell  on  a  Saturday.  I  suppose  it  did,  for,  drunk  or  sober  over- 
night, my  Father  would  not  have  lain  in  bed  late  any  day  but 
Sunday.  "  I  shall  go  for  a  walk,  and  just  you  do  as  I  tell  you — 
I  know  I  can  trust  you.  Don't  give  him  the  Whiskey  when  he 
asks  for  it,  and  say  I've  taken  it  away.  I  shan't  take  it  away, 
because  it  wouldn't  be  any  use.  He'd  get  more.  But  I  want  him 
to  know  what  I  think." 

"  All  right,  Master  Joseph,"  said  Pheener.  And  I  went  for  a 
walk  towards  Wimbledon  Common,  and  after  a  refreshing  couple 
of  hours  came  back  through  Upper  Tooting  and  stopped  at  Poplar 
Villa. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

BU^    DR.   THORPE  WAS   IN   TROUBLE  HIMSELF,   FOR   THAT  BEPPINO  IS   IN 

U  .SGRACE.  NOLLY'S  OPINION  ABOUT  BEPPINO'S  FRIENDS.  HOW  BEP- 
PINO WAS  THRASHED.  A  PASSIONATE  ADMIRATION.  BEP  REALLY 
VAIN  OF  IT.  HOW  JOE  WAS  UNFEELING  TO  HIM.  HOW  PHEENER 
TOOK  AWAY  THE  BOTTLE. 

WHEN  one  goes  to  a  friend  for  sympathy,  it  is  always  safer  to 
hear  a  little  about  his  affairs  before  one  begins  to  air  one's  own 
grievance,  as  he  may  be  worse  off  than  oneself.  Luckily,  I  kept 
mine  back  when  I  first  entered  the  Library  at  Poplar  Villa,  where 
I  found  Nolly  and  his  father  evidently  very  much  depressed;  and 
then,  when  I  had  heard  the  cause  of  their  depression,  decided  that 
I  would  keep  my  Jeremiads  about  my  own  miseries  for  a  future 
occasion.  I  selected  a  genial  manner  to  say  "  Nothing  wrong,  I 
hope  ? "  in ;  and  felt  that  it  was  successful,  as  far  as  concealment 
of  my  own  "  something  wrong "  went.  Nolly  and  the  Doctor 
looked  at  one  another,  and  gave  a  variety  of  doubtful  hums  and 
grunts,  mostly  interrogative.  The  latter  postponed  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  and  waited  for  responses  from  Nolly,  who  scratched  his 
left  temple  slowly,  and  replied  with  a  question.  "  What  ought  we 
to  say?" 

"I  shouldn't  say  anything,  only  it's  Joe,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  Being  Joe,  perhaps  the  fairest  thing  to  say  is  that  Joey  has  been 
making  an  ass  of  himself.  No!  I  don't  think  it's  worse  than 
that."  This  was  in  reply  to  anticipated  exception  taken  by  Nolly, 
who  thereon  evidently  locked  up  an  opinion  that,  whatever  it  was, 
it  was  worse;  but  was  none  the  less  not  sorry  to  lock  it  up,  as  his 
father  took  the  responsibility. 

" What's  the  Poet  been  doing?"  I  asked. 

"Making  love  to  his  friends'  wives,"  grunted  Nolly.  And  I 
gave  a  very  short  whew,  with  a  very  long  gamut. 

"  Only  one,  Nolly,  only  one ! "  said  his  father.  "  Let's  be  fair, 
even  to  Parnassus." 

"Only  one  at  a  time,"  said  Nolly.  "We  shall  have  more 
anon  I " 

"  No,  no,  Noll !    You're  too  hard  on  your  brother.    Let's  be  fair ! 

270 


JOSEPH  VANCE  271 

Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,  and  I  presume  the 
wiggings  also.  Mrs.  Tripey  may  be  exceptional.'7 

By  this  time  the  dialogue  had  told  me  the  whole  story,  being 
helped  by  previous  information.  Beppino,  as  I  always  called  him 
because  his  sister  called  him  so,  had  been  constantly  at  the  house 
of  Thornberry,  with  whom  he  had  been  on  intimate  terms  since  the 
bathing  adventure  at  Lynmouth.  Thornberry  had  married;  but 
not  the  young  lady  of  the  entozoid,  which  his  vitals  had  survived. 
The  Poet  had  been  a  constant  visitor  at  his  friend's  house,  almost 
an  inmate;  and  I  understood  was  writing  a  poem  which  was  to  be 
a  kind  of  diary  of  Helen  of  Troy,  in  Spenserian  Stanzas.  It  was 
necessary  to  have  recourse  to  a  model  for  Helen,  to  stimulate  his 
ideal.  As  long  as  the  model  didn't  try  to  be  like  the  original,  this 
was  no  doubt  all  right  enough;  but  a  little  too  much  dramatic 
fervour  might  evidently  create  a  dangerous  position.  I  have  never 
been  very  fond  of  saying  "  I  told  you  so,"  because  every  one  else 
always  does,  and  has  spoken  first;  but  on  this  occasion  I  did  so, 
just  for  once. 

"What  on  earth  did  you  expect?"  I  asked.  Dr.  Thorpe  took 
his  long-postponed  pinch  of  snuff,  and  Nolly  said,  "  Exactly !  " 

"  Why,"  I  continued,  "  there  was  Beppino  going  about  with  that 
silly,  pretty  goose  (she's  pretty  enough,  but  she  is  a  goose),  taking 
her  to  the  play  and  Marshall  &  Snelgrove's,  and  all  the  time  mak- 
ing believe  she  was  Helen  of  Troy!  What  was  Menelaus  about 
all  the  while?" 

"What  was  he  about  at  Sparta?  However,  thank  God  the 
imitation  of  the  original  stopped  short  in  time.  Helen  still 
adorns  the  hearth  of  Menelaus."  And  then  Dr.  Thorpe  got  a  well- 
deserved  sneeze,  which  it  would  have  been  rude  to  talk  into,  so  we 
left  him  to  resume  his  observations.  "  No — the  real  truth  is 
simply  that  Joey  has  been  an  Ass,  and  the  girl  has  been 
a  goose." 

Nolly  looked  incredulous.  "If  so,"  said  he,  "I  don't  see  how 
you  justify  Thornberry — there  could  have  been  no  sufficient 

ground  for  thrashing  an  old  friend "  I  interjected,  "Did 

Thornberry  thrash  Bep  ?  "  and  Nolly  nodded  briefly,  and  went  on — 
"  an  old  friend  whom  he  was  allowing  his  wife  to  go  about  with 
like  this,  unless "  And  Nolly  pulled  up  sharp. 

"  Unless  Paris  ? "  said  his  father  expressively.  And  Nolly  again 
said,  "  Exactly."  I  began  asking  what  was  Beppino's  own  version 
of  the  facts;  but  stopped,  as  the  Doctor's  next  remarks  seemed  to 
me  to  cover  the  ground. 

"  I  think,  Noll,  some  weight  ought  to  be  attached  to  Joey's  own 


272  JOSEPH  VANCE 

statement.  I  think  you  are  inclined  to  be  hard  upon  him.  Re- 
member that  he  indignantly  resents  any  accusation — of  a  Parisian 

nature "  And  I  thought  I  discerned,  in  the  tone  of  the 

speaker,  satisfaction  at  the  discovery  of  a  telling  adjective, 

"  I  daresay.  But  then  in  the  same  breath  he  says  that  even  were 
it  true,  it  would  be  his  duty  to  resent  it  indignantly." 

"  So  it  would.  But  when  we  recollect  that  Helen  and  Menelaus 
are  still  at  Dulwich  (it  was  Sparta — now  it's  Dulwich)  I  think 
we  ought  to  be  satisfied.  We  have  practically  the  word  of  all 
three.  That  should  exonerate." 

And  the  Doctor  walked  about  the  Library  uneasily.  I  could 
see  he  was  very  miserable  and  uncomfortable,  and  I  resolved  I 
would  say  nothing  to  him  about  my  misdemeanant.  It  would  do 
equally  well  another  time.  Besides,  it  was  only  for  consolation  to 
myself — I  did  not  anticipate  his  being  able  to  give  any  direct 
help  in  my  own  difficulty.  After  one  or  two  turns  up  and  down 
the  room,  during  which  I  endeavoured  to  give  an  exculpatory  and 
hopeful  tone  to  the  conversation,  he  stopped  and  asked  if  Beppino 
was  in  his  den.  Yes,  he  was.  Very  well,  then!  He  would  go  up 
and  have  a  look  at  him;  and  presently  we  heard  his  voice  and  the 
delinquent's  from  afar. 

"  If  the  Governor  gives  him  a  good  blowing  up,  it  may  do  him 
good,  even  at  his  present  age.  But  it's  a  pity  he  hasn't  done  it 
oftener,  to  my  thinking."  Thus  Nolly,  who  then  went  on  to 
improve  the  occasion  in  the  sense  which  some  rather  one-sided 
views  inspired.  "You  see  what  comes  of  Music  and  Poetry. 
They're  all  alike.  He's  got  in  with  a  gang  of  artists,  as  they  call 
themselves.  I  should  call  some  of  them  Authors  and  Musicians; 
but  they  all  talk  of  themselves  as  Artists,  and  say  they  mustn't 
be  interfered  with.  It's  no  use  telling  them  they're  fools." 

"  About  the  same  use  as  telling  other  men  they  are  fools,  isn't 
it?" 

u  Oh  no !  Much  less.  They  are  connected  with  the  Press. 
When  they  are  told  they're  fools,  they  get  a  friend  to  insert  a 
paragraph  in  a  newspaper  to  say  they're  not." 

"  But  haven't  they  plenty  of  enemies  who  write  opposition 
paragraphs,  to  say  they  are  ?  " 

"  That's  exactly  what  they  want !  As  long  as  the  shuttlecock  is 
struck  at  both  ends,  it  keeps  up.  It's  as  I  say — Painters  and 
Poets  and  Musicians  are  all  alike."  And  Nolly  growled  indig- 
nantly and  lit  a  cigar. 

"  Come,  I  say  now,  Nolly,  all  Painters  and  Musicians  don't 
make  love  to  their  friends'  wives."  Nolly  wasn't  quite  prepared  to 


JOSEPH  VANCE  273 

admit  this,  but  when  pressed  allowed  that  there  were  occasional 
exceptions.  Even  then  he  wouldn't  let  them  off  altogether. 
"  Some  of  them,"  said  he,  "  behave  themselves  with  common 
decency  because  it's  good  taste,  but  none  because  it's  right." 

"  I  know  a  lot  of  most  hard-working  men,  whom  I  should  myself 
call  great  painters  and  sculptors,  whose  lives  are  blameless  enough 
to  please  Mrs.  Grundy  herself." 

"Ah  yes — but  these  chaps  of  Beppino's  are  Artists — real 
Artists — who  do  precious  little  work.  When  they  do  it's  inspired, 
and  nobody  can  see  the  beauty  of  it  outside  their  own  circle. 
The  chaps  you  mean  are  always  pegging  away,  and  aren't  in- 
spired at  all." 

"Well — never  mind  them!     Tell  me  more  about  this  business." 

"  I  expected  it  all,  you  know,  and  wasn't  surprised.  You 
wouldn't  have  been  if  you'd  seen  them  at  Thornberry's.  I  went 
there  once — twice.  There  was  Beppino  playing  and  singing  old 
songs  to  Mrs.  Tripey  and  her  sisters.  Ugh ! " 

"  Well — but  that  was  no  harm,  anyhow." 

"Not  if  they  hadn't  spooned  and  fawned  over  the  cub  as  they 
did.  And  then  they  made  him  read  his  Poems !  Faugh !  " 

"What  did  he  read?" 

"  Don't  you  know  his  beastly  poem,  '  A  Trilogy  of  Fair  Women/ 
— Jezebel,  Messalina,  and  Mary  Magdalen,  I  think  they  were  ?  He 
might  at  least  have  softened  some  of  the  Scriptural  expressions." 
From  which  it  will  be  seen  that  Nolly  objected  to  Anglo-Saxon 
authorized  versions  of  Oriental  ideas,  as  much  as  Lossie  had 
done. 

"  But,"  I  asked  him,  "  what  brought  about  the  split  between 
Menelaus  and  Paris  ?  And  how  did  it  get  to  thrashing  point  ?  " 

"  Well !  All  we  know  is  that  yesterday  we  came  back  from 
town — I  had  called  at  the  Museum  in  Jermyn  Street  for  the 
Governor — and  when  we  got  to  the  house  we  heard  a  great  row 
going  on ;  and  the  Governor  said,  '  Why,  that's  Joey's  friend 
Thornberry's  voice.'  And  so  it  was.  His  voice  and  my  precious 
little  brother's,  in  great  trepidation." 

"What  was  Tripey  saying?" 

"As  near  as  I  caught  it,  it  was,  'You  miserable  little  sneak! 
If  you  dare  to  say  that,  I'll  thrash  you  again/ — *  Say  what  ? '  says 
Joey. — l  Say  Emily  encouraged  you/  says  Thornberry.  '  You 
•know  it's  a  lie  as  well  as  I  do.' — '  I  did — didn't  mean  to  say  that/ 
says  Joey,  humbly,  '  I  only  m-rneant  to  say  it's  wasn't  all  me/ — 
'  That's  every  bit  as  bad/  says  Tripey,  flashing  out  at  him. — *  Oh 
no — please,  no/  says  Joe£.  We  heard  all  this  on  the  other  side 


274  JOSEPH  VANCE 

of  the  fence — involuntary  eavesdroppers.  Then  we  came  in,  and 
I  sang  out,  '  What's  the  row? ' " 

"  And  what  was  the  row  ?    At  least,  what  was  the  explanation  ? " 

"  Joey  gave  his  to  the  Governor,  who  took  him  away,  into  the 
house.  I  walked  away  with  Thornberry.  I  quite  sympathized 
with  him,  and  I  think  in  his  position  I  should  have  done  exactly 
what  he  did." 

"  I  understand  that  he  chastised  Master  Joey,  who  of  course 
couldn't  do  anything  in  the  way  of  self-defence.  Wasn't  that  it  ?  " 

"  Well !  It  was,  rather,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  It  wasn't  like  that  at 
my  school.  Nor  yours  ? " 

"  Far  from  it !  Too  far,  I  should  say.  No  matter  how  small 
you  were,  '  Hit  back  first,  and  think  about  it  after '  was  the  rule  at 
St.  Withold's.  We  accepted  the  injunction  to  offer  the  other  cheek 
to  the  smiter,  as  meaning  that  we  ought  to  give  him  another  op- 
portunity of  provoking  us  behind  the  Cloisters  where  the  fights 
were.  But  what  was  Tripey's  account  of  the  business  ? " 

"Much  what  you  might  suppose!  His  wife  came  to  him  and 
complained  of  Bep  having  'forgotten  himself,'  whatever  that 
means,  and  said  it  was  his  duty  to  speak  seriously.  Of  course 
Tripey  wouldn't  allow  that  Helen  had  been  leading  Paris  on.  Oh 
dear,  no! " 

"  I  like  him  for  that." 

"  So  do  I.  Not  a  bad  boy,  Tripey !  All  the  same  she  had  led 
him  on,  keeping  herself  quite  within  the  letter  of  the  law,  of 
course.  And  then  the  stupid  little  idiot — I'm  half  sorry  for  him 
all  the  while — being  human  myself " 

"  And  then  the  stupid  little  idiot ?"  ' 

"  Well !  As  he  expressed  it  to  his  father — he  gets  '  overtaken  by 
a  passionate  admiration '  for  the  minx — that's  not  the  governor's 
expression,  of  course — and  then  the  Apsley  Packets  suddenly 
entered  an  fond  du  theatre,  and  there  was  a  tableau !  " 

"  If  the  Apsley  Packets  had  come  in  five  minutes  sooner  Bep 
would  have  been  sitting  on  a  chair  at  a  respectful  distance  nursing 
his  hat  and  cane,  and  being  a  real  visitor.  If  they  hadn't  come  in 
at  all  Mrs.  T.  wouldn't  have  rushed  away  to  complain." 

"  I  don't  think  we  can  wonder  at  her.  Old  Mrs.  Apsley  Packet 
was  there.  It  wasn't  only  the  young  ones.  The  old  lady  was 
Mrs.  Candour  in  this  performance.  But  I  tell  you  seriously, 
Joe,  that  I  think  it  was  a  good  job  Mrs.  Candour  came  in — Bep's 
weakness  itself  in  this  direction.  However,  he  shouldn't  have 
said  that  about '  encouragement '  to  the  lady's  husband.  That  was 
what  made  Tripey  flare  up.  I  must  be  off!  I  shall  be  late  at 


JOSEPH  VANCE  275 

Hampstead."  And  Nolly  departed,  begging  that  I  would  soften 
things  for  his  father  as  much  as  possible.  I  thought  he  might 
have  done  so  more  himself.  But  had  he  a  still  worse  view  of  the 
imbroglio  than  he  had  actually  admitted? 

As  I  said  nothing  to  Dr.  Thorpe  about  my  own  affairs  on  the 
top  of  the  Beppino  scandal,  and  fortunately  he  had  had  no  time 
to  notice  my  own  depression  before  he  told  me  the  cause  of  his,, 
he  remained  quite  ignorant  of  my  Father's  serious  lapse;  and 
when  I  parted  from  him  late  in  the  evening,  I  had,  I  hope,  made 
his  Sunday  afternoon  less  miserable  than  it  would  otherwise  have 
been.  Nolly  went  away  to  the  Spencers'  at  Hampstead,  to  say 
good-bye  to  the  Alison  Farquharsons.  They  had  been  back  from 
his  coffee  plantations  for  a  holiday,  and  were  just  starting  again 
for  Ceylon.  You  remember  perhaps  that  this  was  Sarita  Spen- 
cer's married  name?  As  for  Master  Beppino,  he  kept  out  of  the 
way.  Ann  reported  that  he  was  writing  in  his  room — writing  a 
few  lines  on  to  Helen  of  Troy,  I  suppose! 

"  What  do  you  make  of  the  Poet,  Doctor  ? "  said  I,  as  we  sat  in 
the  Library  together  after  lunch. 

"I'm  not  happy  about  him,  Joe.  Can't  pretend  I  am.  He 
doesn't  seem  to  me  properly  ashamed  of  himself.  He  disclaims, 
any  real  offence  with  indignation;  but  constantly  lets  out  an 
implication  that  a  man  does  no  real  wrong  if  he  makes  love  to 
his  friends'  wives  under  reservation.  I  can't  make  out  quite 
whether  he  considers  this  sort  of  thing  as  a  privilege  to  which 
poets  and  artists  and  persons  of  geist  are  to  be  admitted,  on  the 
ground  that  good  taste  would  never  break  the  seventh  command- 
ment. Perhaps  he  does." 

"  I'm  not  a  person  of  geist,  so  I'm  no  judge.  If  I  had  been  the 
little  brother  of  a  child  I  found  weeping  in  the  street  this  morning, 
I  should  have  done  exactly  what  he  did.  He  had  been  lent  a  half- 
sucked  pear-drop  on  condition  that  he  should  only  take  one  suck 
and  give  it  back,  and  as  soon  as  he'd  fairly  got  it  in  his  mouth 
he  ran  away.  But  then  I  don't  want  other  little  boys'  pear-drops." 

"  I  see  the  application  of  the  story.  Let  us  hope  Joey  will  get 
a  new  pear-drop  all  to  himself.  I  find  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in 
talking  as  if  he  was  a  baby.  In  fact,  I'm  grateful  for  you* 
comparison." 

The  Doctor  dwelt  a  good  deal  on  this  idea ;  and  then  we  chatted 
of  other  matters.  He  never  alluded  now  to  the  termination  of  my 
engagement  to  Jane  Spencer.  I  had,  of  course,  talked  of  it  to  him 
at  the  time;  but  we  had  both  steered  clear  of  the  real  underlying 
reason,  though  each  saw  the  other's  mind.  All  the  same,  I  knew 


276  JOSEPH  VANCE 

perfectly  well  that  in  his  heart  he  had  hoped  for  a  new  pear-drop 
for  me,  all  to  myself,  as  well  as  for  the  Poet.  I  asked  him  whether 
he  thought  Nolly  was  in  the  way  to  anything  of  that  sort,  and  he 
replied,  "Well — I  shouldn't  like  to  say — things  are  always  going 
on.  Nothing  at  this  moment  though,  I  fancy." 

So  I  did  not  catechize  him,  and  presently  he  said  he  had  got 
the  wrong  spectacles,  and  would  go  and  get  the  others.  He  could 
find  them  best  himself. 

I  heard  a  furtive  footstep  outside.  It  was  Master  Beppino,  who 
had  seized  the  opportunity  of  his  father's  absence — not  being,  I 
suppose,  very  keen  for  publicity — to  come  and  gather  the  opinions 
of  Europe  about  his  escapade.  I  shouldn't  word  it  this  way;  only 
that  I  found  before  he  had  been  two  minutes  in  the  room  with  me, 
that  he  was  really  very  vain  of  it. 

"Come  in  and  show  your  face,  Bep,"  said  I;  al  hear  you've 
been  distinguishing  yourself  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  Joe  Vance,"  said  he.  I  can't  pretend  to  spell  or 
describe  his  mincing  and  drawling  accent;  but  it  may  give  some 
clue  to  it  that  he  distinctly  called  me  Juvence.  "You  mustn't 
quite  say  that!  You  shouldn't  be  so  severe  on  a  poor  chap — not 
for  this  sawt  of  thing ! "  I  expressed  uncertainty  about  what  the 
sort  of  thing  was,  and  found  that  the  "  poor  chap  "  was  deriving 
much  satisfaction  from  leaving  it  in  doubt.  He  evidently  was 
hanging  longingly  on  the  outskirts  of  Don  Juan,  so  to  speak,  and 
was  reluctant  to  give  up  such  honours  as  he  felt  entitled  to. 

"  When  a  gyairl  like  Emily  Thornberry "  said  Beppino,  and 

then  went  off  at  a  tangent.  "  However,  I'm  reely  not  qualified  to 
say  anything  about  Tripey.  He's  an  excellent  fellow  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  But  a  gyairl  like  Emily  asks  for  more " 

"  You  didn't  ask  for  more  yesterday  when  you  had  your  licking, 
anyhow,  Bep?" 

"Oo — Juvence!     How  can  you  be  so — l)rootle!" 

"  Well !  "  said  I,  "  perhaps  I  am  rather  brutal.  Why,  he's  double 
your  size ! "  It  really  was  impossible  to  wash  one's  mind  of  the 
idea  of  the  extreme  youth  of  the  delinquent.  His  further  apolo- 
gies (or  self-gratulations)  were  cut  short  by  Dr.  Thorpe's  return. 
"I  stayed  to  put  my  boots  on,  Joe,"  said  he.  "I'll  walk  back  a 
bit  of  the  way  with  you." 

And  he  accompanied  me  as  far  as  Clapham  Common,  and  then 
turned  back,  putting  up  his  umbrella  in  a  drizzle  that  had  begun. 
I  made  my  way  home  chilled  and  dejected. 

My  Father  had  not  gone  to  bed.  He  was  in  a  heavy  snoring 
sleep  in  the  big  leather  armchair  in  the  Snuggery,  with  his  silk 


JOSEPH  VANCE  277 

handkerchief  over  his  head  as  usual.  There  was  no  bottle  on  the, 
table  beside  him,  and  I  inferred  that  the  faithful  Pheener  had  been, 
more  than  true  to  her  trust.  I  thought  it  best  to  rouse  the  sleeper. 
"It's  all  right,  Nipper  dear,"  said  he,  "it's  all  right.  I'nx 
ashamed  of  myself — don't  you  fret !  " 

I  could  have  cried  outright  like  a  child.  "  Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy," 
said  I,  "  don't  talk  of  it — let  it  alone.  What  does  it  matter  ?  " 

But  my  Father  was  not  going  to  accept  assistance  from  prevari- 
cation. "  PVaps  nothing  matters,"  said  he.  "  But  it  seems  to 
me  this  matters  as  much  as  anything  else.  I'm  not  going  to 
occur  again,  though — not  if  I  can  help  it!  I've  made  a  begin- 
ning straight  off.  Little  Clementina's  took  away  the  bottle !  " 

I  couldn't  help  laughing  at  this  and  felt  almost  cheerful — the 
first  time  that  day.  "Never  mind,  Dad,"  said  I,  "we'll  get  it 
all  right  somehow." 

He  evidently  thought  that  he  had  made  enough  confession  to> 
justify  a  review  of  extenuating  circumstances.  "  Champagne," 
said  he,  "  is  pison,  even  Voove  Click-what,  and  a  man  can't  check 
what  he  swaflers.  I  wasn't  singin'  though,  Nipper,  was  I  ? " — I 
said  certainly  not ! 

"  Not  '  a  Landlady  of  France  she  loved  an  Officer,  'tis  said/  nor 
( stick  'em  up  again  in  the  middle  of  a  three-cent  pie'  ? " 

"  Neither  of  them — quite  certain."  My  Father  seemed  reassured. 
tf  That's  something,  anyhow,"  said  he.  "  The  other  Arbitrators 
was  singin'  both.  Likewise  'Rule  Britannia/  Weak-headed 
cards,  the  two  on  ?em ! " 

"I'm  afraid  you  won't  g^t  any  change  out  of  that,  Dad," 
said  I,  "  because  you  never  do  sing."  My  Father  ignored  the 
elenchus. 

"  One  of  these  cards,"  pursued  he,  apparently  with  a  view  of 
showing  the  unmusical  character  of  his  companion,  "  was  a  ship- 
builder— t'other's  a  housebreaker !  "  I  made  a  comment.  "  Not 
a  professional  'and.  It's  a  business,  is  housebreaking,  and  a  pay- 
ing one  at  that.  He  gives  you  a  estimate  and  pulls  you  down 
and  carts  you  away  off  the  ground  at  so  much  a  load,  or  pays  you 
so  much  down  for  your  carcase.  Then  when  you  rebuild  he  sells 
you  your  stock  brick  back  at  a  pound  a  thousand  took  as  they 
rise  bats  and  all,  and  you  charges  them  on  as  noo  if  the  Clerk  of 
Works  don't  cut  in  or  won't  take  a  fiver  to  hold  his  tongue." 

"  That  doesn't  sound  honest — to  an  outsider." 

"It's  honest  if  you  says  as  I  do  to  the  customers,  'Here's  me 
and  Coxeter  &  Bulstrode  (that's  his  firm — his  name's  Sims) — are 
going  to  lie  and  cheat  and  ewade  our  obligations  as  hard  as  ever  we 


278  JOSEPH  VANCE 

can — so  just  you  see  that  it's  allowed  for  in  the  schedule  or  con- 
tract, as  the  case  may  be " 

These  revelations  paused  on  the  entrance  of  Pheener  with  a 
tray  on  which  I  perceived  a  whiskey-bottle  with  hot  water  and 
lemons. 

"  I  did  just  like  you  said,  Master  Joseph,"  said  she.  "  I  wasn't 
going  to  let  him  have  it,  and  he  didn't  have  it.  But  I  told  him 
I'd  bring  it  in  when  you  came  back.  They  do  say  it's  best  not  to 
cut  'em  off  altogether." 

Pheener  said  this  as  one  who  had  been  in  the  way  of  good 
authorities;  so  I  took  her  word  for  it,  especially  as  I  thought  I 
had  somewhere  heard  the  same  thing  myself,  and  mixed  a  reason- 
able nightcap  for  my  Father.  Pheener  removed  the  bottle 
religiously  as  soon  as  ever  I  had  poured  out  a  wineglassful.  My 
poor  Daddy  sat  looking  on,  with  a  rather  ridiculous  half-rueful 
expression  on  his  face.  "All  right,"  said  he,  "you  carry  it  off 
and  lock  it  up.  /  won't  marry  you  if  you  don't,"  which  was  a 
funny  way  of  landing  such  an  important  subject  suddenly  on 
the  tapis.  Pheener's  way  of  receiving  it  was  original,  and  did 
her  credit,  to  my  thinking.  "If,"  she  said,  "I  have  to  carry 
away  the  whiskey  from  all  the  gentlemen  that  ain't  going  to  marry 
me,  I  shall  have  my  hands  full,  Master  Joseph,"  and  disappeared 
with  it,  wishing  us  good-night  with  perfect  gravity. 

"Little  Clementina's  a  nice  girl,"  said  my  Father,  hanging 
over  his  grog  as  there  was  no  more  coming,  and  making  the  most 
of  it.  "What's  your  opinion,  Nipper?" 

My  opinion  was  favourable  as  far  as  it  went;  but  awaited 
development  of  the  subject.  It  came. 

"  I  shouldn't  'ave  the  'art  to  marry  again,  after  your  mother, 
Joey — I'm  a  sort  of  male  widder  by  nature.  But  if  I  wasn't  I 
might  do  worse  than  little  Clementina,"  and  my  Father  lighted 
his  pipe  and  paused  for  encouragement — which  was  not  forth- 
coming. The  fact  is,  I  had  gone  to  Dr.  Thorpe  hoping  for 
guidance  on  this  very  point,  which  was  impending;  and  now  felt 
so  sick  with  the  difficulties  of  life,  that  I  let  him  smoke  his  pipe 
out  without  saying  anything,  and  then  announced  that  I  had  a 
headache  and  should  go  to  bed.  It  was  past  one  o'clock  before  I 
turned  in,  after  four-and-twenty  of  the  most  unsatisfactory  hours 
I  ever  spent  in  my  life. 

The  subject  may  be  said  to  have  remained  on  the  tapis  by 
common  consent,  without  any  one  pursuing  it,  or  embarking  on  it, 
or  trenching  on  it,  or  doing  anything  one  does  with  subjects  except 
avoiding  it.  Next  Sunday  I  went  again  to  Dr.  Thorpe  and  found 


JOSEPH  VANCE  279 

him  alone.  Nolly  had  vanished  to  a  great  cricket  match  some- 
where in  the  country,  and  Beppino  had  shown  a  judicious  delicacy ; 
going  away  to  his  rooms  at  Oxford. 

"  He's  somewhere  else,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  and  for 
the  present  I  can't  say  I'm  sorry.  How's  your  father  ? " 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  about  him,  Doctor.  He's  been  giving  trouble 
again.  Poor  old  Dad !  " 

"  Poor  old  Joe,"  said  the  Doctor,  looking  at  me  wistfully. 
"  Walk  round  the  garden  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

The  pears  were  a  poor  and  late  crop  this  year.  For  to-day 
must  have  been  the  twenty-sixth,  as  my  birthday  was  the  eight- 
eenth, and  the  fruit  was  not  near  picking  yet.  We  noticed  this 
with  a  common  consciousness  of  old  memories,  and  then  I  went 
back  to  my  Father.  I  narrated  the  occurrence  of  yesterday  week. 
"  But,"  said  I,  "  it  is  possible  that  he  was  really  mistaken  about 
how  much  champagne  he  could  safely  take,  as  he  rarely  drinks 
anything  but  whiskey.  He  was  upset  at  Vi's  wedding,  but  was 
very  good  for  a  long  time  after."  I  always  spoke  of  it  as  Vi's 
wedding — never  Lossie's. 

"  Let's  make  the  most  we  can  of  it,  anyhow — give  good  fortune 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  But  you  say  Seraphina  Dowdeswell  (it 
tickles  me  so  that  name,  that  I  always  say  it  when  I  can) — 
Seraphina  Dowdeswell  beards  the  lion  in  his  den  and  carries  away 
his  whiskey-bottle  ? " 

This  led  naturally  to  a  narrative  of  my  conversation  with 
Pheener  on  the  Saturday  at  dinner,  and  of  how  my  Father  had 
angled  for  my  sanction  since.  "  I  shouldn't  like,"  said  I,  "  to  say 
anything  to  influence,  one  way  or  the  other,  unless " 

"Unless  what?" 

"  Unless  you  advised  me  to." 

"  Go  along  with  you,  Joe !  Putting  the  responsibility  off  on 
me!  However,  Pll  think  about  it."  We  said  nothing  further 
then,  but  when  we  were  sitting  together  that  evening  he  resumed 
the  subject. 

"I've  been  thinking  it  well  over,  Joe,  and  I'm  of  opinion — now 
you  mustn't  be  shocked — "  I  said  I  wouldn't,  and  he  took  a  very 
long  pinch  of  snuff  before  proceeding — "  I've  come  to  the  con- 
clusion— that-they'd-better-be-married."  The  middle  of  this  re- 
mark was  filled  with  a  sneeze  worthy  of  its  provocation,  and  the 
last  words  came  with  a  run.  The  Doctor  then  shut  down  the  lid 
of  his  snuffbox  rather  as  if  he  had  married  the  couple  and  shut 
them  both  in,  and  gave  two  taps  on  the  lid  to  record  the  numbe* 
inside. 


280  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  I'm  only  thinking  of  my  Mother,"  said  I. 

"  I'll  be  answerable  for  that.  Your  Mother  would  be  certain  to 
think  first  of  your  Father's  welfare.  Besides,  you  may  be  pretty 
sure  there's  a  satisfactory  arrangement  on  the  other  side.  You  may 
safely  leave  it  all  in  God's  hands." 

His  spontaneous  confidence  in  a  hereafter  was  so  strong  that  it 
often  bubbled  up  like  this,  and  could  not  be  kept  down.  But  he 
would  then  defer  slightly  to  what  he  called  Orthodoubt,  apologiz- 
ing as  it  were  to  some  supposititious  Mrs.  Grundy  in  whose  eyes 
such  confidence  counted  as  indecency. 

"  Of  course,"  he  continued,  "  I  shouldn't  say  so  if  Vi  was  here. 
But  when  it's  only  you  and  me  we  may  be  as  improper  as  we  like. 
It's  a  very  funny  thing,  though,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
that  one  should  have  one's  mouth  shut  on  this  subject  by  the 
Family  Representative  of  Religion!  It's  a  curious  Nemesis  of 
the  Correctitudes " 

"  When  I'm  with  you,  Doctor,  I  always  think  as  you  do.  When 
I'm  alone  I  get  frightened." 

u  Why  should  you  be  frightened,  my  dear  boy  ?  After  all,  it's  a 
question  of  one's  sense  of  humour.  If  I  were  to  catch  myself 
non-existing  after  death,  I  should  simply  die  of  laughter.  It 
would  really  be  too  absurd  if  the  thing  that  did  the  knowing 
stopped,  and  the  known  was  left  entirely  to  its  own  devices.  But 
you  always  say  you  don't  understand  that  idea.  So  let's  talk 
about  your  Father  and  let  Metaphysics  alone.  What  do  you  really 
think  yourself,  putting  your  Mother  out  of  the  question  till  we 
all  get  across  ? " 

"  I  think  my  Father's  chances  of  fighting  his  enemy  would  be 
greater  with  an  ally." 

"  And  you  think  Clementina — no  !  Seraphina — Dowdeswell 
would  be  a  good  ally  ? " 

"  She's  the  only  one  that  offers.  Perhaps  it  isn't  fair  to  say 
she's  offered.  But  she  would  accept." 

"You  see,  my  boy,  it  is  in  God's  hands.  Just  you  leave  it 
there." 

I  don't  know  how  far  I  was  taking  it  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
Almighty  by  saying  to  Pheener,  as  I  did  at  the  next  opportunity, 
that  next  time  my  Father  wanted  to  marry  her  she  needn't  ask  my 
leave. — Pheener  merely  said,  "Yes,  Master  Joseph,  thank  you!'* 
and  the  household  went  on  as  usual.  But  I  felt  raw  and  cold  and 
thin,  and  that  all  the  past  I  had  known  was  sliding  away  from  me, 
and  no  future  was  coming  to  take  its  place.  Consolation  had  to  be 
extracted  from  the  activities  of  life;  and  I  really  believe  that  my 


JOSEPH  VANCE  281 

Guardian  Angel,  or  some  other  beneficent  unseen  agency,  often 
staved  off  a  too  great  oppression  of  melancholy  which  might  have 
ended  in  a  razor,  by  some  sudden  sweet  suggestion  of  composite 
differential  interchanging  movements  of  axes  of  vibration — or 
some  such  thing.  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  this  one  means, 
having  put  it  together  at  random;  but  mechanisms  of  an  equally 
bracing  nature  were  often  shot  down  from  the  blue  to  occupy  my 
mind  and  avert  suicide.  I  know  of  nothing  like  invention  to  make 
life  palatable. 

But  even  in  this  field  unpleasantness  cropped  up.  For  one  day 
running  my  eyes  through  the  advertisements  in  the  Engineer  I 
came  suddenly  on  one  with  a  beautiful  picture  that  struck  my 
mind  as  very  familiar.  And  the  text  described  it  as  McGaskin 
&  Flack's  Spherical  Engine  with  Double  Eeciprocity  Movement! 
And  annexed  to  that  text  were  testimonials  to  the  effect  that  it 
developed  a  circus-full  of  horses'  power  on  the  brake  more  than 
was  promised;  that  it  had  run  a  thousand  hours  without  heating 
and  would  evidently  have  run  a  thousand  more  only  for  the  Strike; 
that  its  consumption  of  oil  was  so  small  that  your  little  bottle  you 
sent  with  it  was  still  nearly  full  and  so  forth.  I  must  say  I  was 
in  a  great  rage,  and  it  certainly  did  me  good. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Bony?"  said  I,  throwing  him 
the  journal.  And  Bony  gave  one  of  his  longest  whistles  on 
record. 

"Think,"  said  he.  "What  did  I  tell  you,  Joe  Vance?  That's 
the  man  that  called  me  underhand!  I  should  like  to  know  why 
it's  underhand  to  kiss  an  engineer's  daughter  when  she  likes  it. 
Anyhow,  it's  much  more  underhand  to  pirate  an  invention." 

"  Of  course  I  could  institute  proceedings,"  said  I.  "  I'll  see 
a  solicitor  about  it." 

"No,  you  won't,  old  chap,  I  know  you  too  well."  And  then 
something  occurred  to  me.  "  Why,  of  course,"  I  said,  "  because  of 
Mrs.  Macallister  and  Mrs.  Macallister's  baby.  No,  of  course  X 
shouldn't — I  didn't  recollect  she  was  the  old  humbug's  daughter/' 

"Now,  you  see  what  a  double-dyed  old  sneak  my  respectable 
Father-in-law  is.  He  knows  perfectly  well  you  won't  act,  because 
of  upsetting  Jeannie.  And  he  called  me  underhand,  because  I 
kissed,  etc.,"  and  Bony  enlarged  at  some  length  on  his  grievance, 
pointing  out  that  if  he  had  asked  Jeannie  to  promise  to  marry  him 
it  would  have  been  different.  "  But,"  said  I,  "  you  considered 
yourself  bound  to  her  ? "  He  replied  of  course  he  did,  adding, 
"  But  then  it  was  I  did  the  kissing !  If  she'd  kissed  me  I  should 
have  considered  it  a  promise." 


282  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  Whenever  is  that  blessed  baby  coming,  Bony  ? " 

"  It's  been  due  ever  so  long.  And  the  nurse  has  another  engage- 
ment next  month.  So  if  it  doesn't  arrive  in  a  fortnight  there'll 
be  the  Doose's  own  Delight." 

Satan  missed  this  little  gratification,  for  Archie  junior  ap- 
peared four  days  after  the  conversation.  He  in  due  course  an- 
nounced, through  his  agents,  his  desire  to  enter  the  Christian 
Church  as  Archibald  Stephenson  Macallister,  and  invited  me  to 
be  present  on  the  occasion  of  his  induction. 

I  wasn't  at  all  sorry  to  have  something  to  look  forward  to,  as 
the  plot  continued  to  thicken  at  home — if  there  was  a  plot.  I 
should  have  said  that  the  author  of  the  drama — if  it  was  a  drama ! 
• — was  very  unskilful,  and  lacked  constructive  power.  For  the 
approach  of  the  climax  was  only  shown  by  an  increase  of  my 
Dad's  effrontery  in  representing  Miss  Dowdeswell  as  yearning  for 
wedlock.  "You  keep  your  eyes  on  them  boots,  little  Clementina, 
and  see  Cook  doesn't  put  'em  too  near  the  fire,  or  I  won't  marry 
you,"  and  "You  tell  Cook  the  soup  was  all  pepper — and  blow  her 
up  sky-high,  or  I  won't  marry  you,"  and  "  Shut  that  door  when 
you  go  out,  or  I  won't  marry  you,  little  Clementina,"  are  examples 
of  the  way  in  which  he  strove  to  envelop  himself  and  Pheener  in  a 
sort  of  halo  of  Matrimony,  with  a  view,  as  T  thought,  to  make 
me  the  originator  of  a  serious  discussion  on  the  subject.  This 
conjecture  proved  true,  for  on  my  saying  to  him  one  day  after 
dinner  that  I  should  really  like  to  know  how  far  he  was  merely 
joking,  and  whether  he  was  not  a  little  in  earnest,  he  replied  with 
a  much  nearer  approach  to  seriousness,  that  she  was  a  nice  girl 
and  one  might  do  much  worse  than  little  Clementina.  "  Very 
easily,"  said  I,  "but  would  you  be  more  comfortable  if  you  were 
to  marry  her?" 

"  Well,  Nipper  dear,"  said  he,  after  smoking  a  long  time  beside 
his  allowance,  conceded  from  a  bottle  Pheener  had  carried  away, 

"  I  won't  marry  little  Clementina  nor  anybody  else "  He 

stopped  without  a  full  stop — perhaps  with  a  comma — and  waited 
for  me  to  supply  something  he  might  contradict.  I  supplied  it 
rather  too  late  for  dramatic  effect,  as  I  was  watching  a  beautiful 
emoke  ring  I  had  despatched  across  the  table.  When  it  died  away 
I  merely  said,  "  Well,  Daddy  dear,  I  shan't  run  away  from  here 
till  you  do " 

"  Don't  you  be  in  such  a  hurry,  Nipper,"  said  he.  "  I  was  going 
to  say  (only  you  must  be  interrupting)  that  I  wouldn't  marry  lit- 
tle Clementina  or  any  one  else,  not  without  first  consulting  the 
Doctor." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  283 

"  Good  Gracious,  Dad,"  said  I.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  your  lungs 
Or  your  heart,  or  what's  the  matter  ? " 

A  certain  placid  satisfaction  on  my  Father's  face  showed  me 
that  he  would  soon  find  materials  for  a  distinct  statement  in  the 
opportunities  for  contradiction  he  was  creating  for  himself. 

"  Nothin'  whatever,"  said  he.  "  Never  was  better  in  my  life !  " 
Then  I  asked  him  why  on  earth  did  he  want  to  consult  the  Doctor  ? 
He  replied  with  another  question,  and  an  air  of  injury.  Did  I 
ever  know  him  consult  a  Doctor  about  his  health?  If  he  had  any- 
thing wrong  with  his  witals,  wasn't  a  doctor  the  very  last  person  he 
should  consult — if  I  came  to  that,  the  only  person  in  the  world 
he  shouldn't  consult?  A  light  broke  upon  me,  and  I  perceived 
that  Dr.  Thorpe  was  the  intended  arbiter. 

"  Why,  of  course,  Nipper !  And  I  was  tellin'  you  so,  only 
you  interrupted  me.  The  idea  of  me  consultin'  a  doctorin' 
doctor!" 

But  it  struck  me  very  strongly  that,  however  complimentary 
such  a  reference  might  be,  it  would  hardly  be  fair,  after  my  late 
conversation  with  Dr.  Thorpe,  to  throw  such  a  responsibility  on 
him.  My  Father  cogitated  a  little,  and  admitted  it.  "Maybe 
you're  right,"  said  he.  And  he  remained  silent  and  reflective 
through  a  whole  pipe. 

I  never  was  surprised  at  anything  my  Father  did.  So  when 
Pheener  came  in  with  the  accustomed  question — was  there  any- 
thing else? — I  was  scarcely  taken  aback  at  his  replying,  "Yes, 
little  Clementina.  You  can  marry  me  if  you  like,"  and  going  on 
lighting  a  new  pipe.  Pheener  stood  half  in  the  doorway  as  one 
who  was  waiting  to  hear  what  else  there  was,  and  said,  "What 
does  Master  Joseph  say  ? "  Master  Joseph  interposed  no  obstacles. 
"  I  think,  Master,"  said  the  young  lady,  "  I  should  like  to  speak  to 
Cook,  and  tell  you  to-morrow." 

I  got  away  early  to-morrow,  leaving  matters  to  arrange  them- 
selves. On  my  return  I  found  that  Cook,  a  person  of  great 
delicacy  of  feeling,  had  advised  Pheener  that  if  she  accepted 
Master,  she  was  bound  at  once  to  fly  the  house  and  join  her  rela- 
tions in  the  country  until  the  wedding-day.  Accordingly,  she 
packed  her  box,  got  a  four-wheeler,  and  looked  in  at  my  Father 
at  breakfast.  "  I  shall  be  very  happy  to,  Master,"  said  she.  "  All 
right,  little  Clementina,"  said  he.  "Tell  Cook  another  boiled 
egg,"  which  Pheener  did,  and  then  drove  away  before  my  Father 
realized  the  position. 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  right,"  said  he,  when  Cook  appeared  with 
the  egg  and  an  explanation,  "  but  I  call  it  'umbuggin'." 


284  JOSEPH  VANCE 

When  I  returned,  finding  that  the  matter  might  he  regarded  as 
settled,  I  arranged  my  own  plans — and  wrote  to  Lossie,  of  course — 
a  very  long  letter  this  time.  I  thought  I  would  defer  sending  it  a 
little  for  fear  of  having  to  counter-write  it  all  later.  There  might 
be  slips  between  the  cup  and  the  lip. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

HOW  JOE  MET  JANEY  AGAIN.  HE  IS  LEFT  ALONE  WITH  HER  AND  FEELS 
QUEER.  HOW  HE  WILL  WRITE  IT  ALL  TO  LOSSIE,  MATCHMAKING 
JEANNIE.  THEY  ARE  ALONE  SOME  MORE,  A  RAPPROCHEMENT  ON 
BONY-JEANNIE  LINES,  HOW  JOE'S  WALK  HOME  WAS  HAPPY. 

ARCHIBALD  STEPHENSON  MACALLISTER'S  wishes  must  have  been 
misrepresented,  for  he  crumpled  himself  up  and  turned  purple  when 
presented  for  the  sacred  rite  of  Baptism.  He  raised  a  powerful 
voice  in  protest,  and  ended  by  sneezing  violently,  after  which  he 
gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job,  and  consoled  himself  with  the  bottle. 

I  did  not  witness  this  personally,  as  there  was  some  difficulty 
about  his  Father  and  myself  both  being  absent  from  the  Works  at 
the  same  time.  But  I  had  a  graphic  account  of  it  from  Miss  Jane 
Spencer.  Master  Archibald,  in  fact,  served  to  pave  the  way  to  an 
easier  relation  between  me  and  Janey.  There  had  naturally  been. 
a  certain  stiffness,  since  our  disruption.  It  could  not  well  have 
been  otherwise.  But  we  had  met  occasionally  by  accident,  and 
had  had  to  accept  the  position  as  it  stood,  and  do  as  much  as 
possible  to  exempt  bystanders  from  having  to  include  us  among 
their  embarrassments.  Appointments  suddenly  recollected  by  the 
one  or  the  other  had  done  great  service  in  enabling  us  to  bear  our 
own.  I  think  this  Christening  party,  which  I  joined  later  in  the 
day,  was  the  first  time  she  and  I  had  met  for  nearly  two  years 
without  possibility  of  retreat  for  either. 

She  was  just  coming  out  of  the  tea-encumbered  reception  room 
as  I  went  in,  and  we  shook  hands  with  a  routine  smile.  And  I 
know  that  Maisie  Maxey,  sixteen,  who  was  standing  by,  made  a 
mental  note  of  our  demeanour  as  probably  the  correct  one  for  a 
couple  that  had  "  broken  it  off,"  and  thought  she  was  really  seeing 
the  world.  I  saw  this  fact  in  Miss  Maxey's  large  blue  eyes,  which 
stood  wide-open  like  street  doors.  Then  I  went  in  and  had  tea, 
and  went  upstairs.  There  I  came  upon  Master  Macallister,  who 
after  a  deep  sleep  following  exhaustion  from  renouncing  the 
Devil  and  all  his  works,  had  waked  up  and  was  being  carried 
round  to  be  shown  to  Society,  select  members  of  which  were  per- 
mitted to  kiss  him,  but  with  caution  and  reserve.  I  was  one  of 


286  JOSEPH  VANCE 

the  privileged  few — my  relations  with  his  father  at  St.  Withold's 
settled  that! — and  was  told  by  Jeannie  that  it  was  ridiculous  to 
complain  (as  I  had  done)  that  his  cheek  was  too  small  to  kiss! 
What  could  I  expect  at  six  weeks? — Wasn't  it  absurd,  Janey? 
Miss  Spencer  assented  indignantly,  and  kissed  him  herself;  it  was 
the  other  cheek,  so  it  did  not  prejudice  our  relations  in  any  way. 
But  it  would  have  been  stiff  not  to  chat,  after  such  a  narrow  escape 
of  kissing  the  same  one.  And  thus  it  was  that  I  came  to  have 
such  a  full  account  of  the  rebellious  Paganism  of  Master  Archie. 

Having  given  me  these  particulars  on  the  subject  of  public 
interest — just  as  strangers  converse  freely  and  unbend  at  a  Fire 
or  a  really  satisfactory  Accident,  with  loss  of  life, — it  seemed  to 
be  only  the  natural  course  of  things  for  Janey  to  say,  "  I  hope  old 
Mr.  Vance  keeps  well." 

"  Oh  yes,  very  well.     You  know  he's  going  to  be  married  ? " 

"  No — indeed  I  didn't !  "  And  the  valedictory  atmosphere  that 
hung  about  her  last  remark  dispersed  and  interest  awakened.  But 
Janey  evidently  felt  that  discussion  between  us,  with  interest, 
would  be  a  new  departure ;  and  thought  it  belonged  to  the  position 
not  to  embark  on  it  without  an  apology.  The  hazel  eyes  looked 
straight  at  me.  "  I  may  ask,  mayn't  I  ? "  said  she ;  "  I  should  so 
like  to  hear  about  it.  You  know  I  used  to  like  your  Father  so 
much." 

Used  to!  And  no  signalman  on  the  railway  of  Life  came  out 
of  a  box  and  showed  a  red  flag,  as  he  should  have  done.  If  he 
was  there,  he  was  asleep.  But  not  content  with  her  mistake  in 
referring  to  a  closed  chapter  of  our  volume,  Janey  proceeded  to 
make  matters  worse  by  calling  special  attention  to  the  fact  that 
there  were  passages  that  need  not  be  forgotten,  thereby  isolating 
and  emphasizing  what  it  was  better  to  forget. 

"  I  don't  mean,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I  don't— that  I  shouldn't— 
that  I  don't  like  him  now.  Well — you  know  what  I  mean !  Any- 
how, do  please  tell  me  about  his  marriage "  And  Janey  got 

out  of  the  dangerous  ground,  as  one  escapes  from  sinking  in  a 
morass  by  a  sudden  rush  for  a  hard  island. 

I  told  her  all  about  the  domestic  event,  ungrudgingly  enough. 
For  I  rejected  with  scorn  the  idea  that  such  excessive  caution  was 
necessary.  Was  it  not  a  want  of  confidence  in  Janey,  almost  a 
disrespectful  one,  to  consider  it  so  ?  As  for  myself,  it  came  to  the 
same  thing  whatever  happened.  If  (for  Joey  No.  2  was  getting 
uneasy  on  the  subject)  there  should  be  any  recrudescence  of  Janey 
— well!  so  much  the  better!  If  not,  it  really  wasn't  a  hanging 
matter. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  287 

Ought  it  not  to  have  been  one?  Had  I  any  right  to  dismiss, 
as  I  did,  the  possibility  of  a  stronger  interest  than  my  own,  under 
what  may  have  been  the  pretext  that  it  was  a  point  of  honour 
to  show  confidence  in  Janey  by  doing  so?  I  hope  I  deceived 
myself. 

I  gave  then  a  complete  account  of  my  Father's  eccentric  second 
courtship,  and  Janey  laughed  a  good  deal  thereat;  so  much  so,  in 
fact,  that  it  was  necessary  to  wipe  her  eyes.  When  she  had  done 
this  I  think  we  both  felt  that  a  let's-be-serious  wave  was  due,  and 
we  settled  down  to  it  without  going  back  to  a  society  tone,  which 
showed  that  we  were  comf ortabler. 

"  It's  all  very  fine  to  laugh,"  said  she,  "  but  I'm  afraid  it's  no 
laughing  matter  to  you.  Shall  you  go  on  living  with  your 
Father?" 

"  Oh,  no !  It's  too  rum !  You  have  no  idea  how  queer  and 
uncomfortable  it  is — and  all  without  any  of  us  wanting  to  make 
any  discomfort,  or  show  any  little  tempers  in  the  matter.  It  does 
seem  hard  that  when  there  are  so  few  people  to  consult,  and  none 
of  the  Regulation  sources  of  misery,  that  human  nature  should  be 
unable  to  take  advantage  of  it  and  be  happy.  Of  course  if  there 
was  to  be  a  settlement  one  would  clear  the  decks  for  action.  But 
there  won't  be  one."  Janey  looked  very  grave.  "  There  ought  to 
be  a  settlement,"  said  she. 

I  did  not  enter  into  any  discussion  of  this  point,  as  Janey's  re- 
mark was  one  I  have  always  heard  made  under  the  same  circum- 
stances, apparently  automatically.  I  have  always  classified  it  as 
an  involuntary  decision  of  well-regulated  intellects,  a  sort  of 
Judicial  Sneeze  on  their  part,  and  have,  so  to  speak,  waited  until 
they  had  put  away  their  pocket-handkerchiefs.  "But  after  all," 
Janey  continued,  "the  happiness  of  the  parties  is  the  first  con- 
sideration— almost  more  than  the  settlement.  As  Papa  isn't  here 
I  may  say  so.  You  really  think  Seraphina  Dowdeswell  with  the 
impossible  name  will  make  your  Father  a  good  wife? " 

"  Yes,  at  least  Seraphina  Vance  will.  One  thing  I'm  certain 
of — Pheener  will  carry  away  the  whiskey-bottle." 

No  sooner  had  the  words  passed  my  lips  than  I  felt  I  had  made 
a  mistake.  "  What  I  was  to  have  done,"  was  certainly  what  Janey 
did  not  say;  yet  she  stood  there  visibly  abstaining  from  saying  it, 
with  the  most  creditable  resolution.  I  saw  it  as  plain  as  words 
could  speak,  in  a  smile  that,  being  firmly  restrained  at  the  mouth, 
forced  its  way  into  the  eyes,  and  would  not  be  denied.  I  con- 
sidered it  best  to  go  on. 

"But  she'll  never  be  cured  of   calling  me   Master   Joseph — • 


288  JOSEPH  VANCE 

nor  altogether  cured  of  waiting  at  table.    Naturam  expellas  fur- 

"I  don't  know  what  that  means. — Never  mind!  Tell  me  what 
your  own  plans  are,  if  you  don't  go  on  living  at  home  ? " 

"  Can't  say,  exactly.  I  may  take  lodgings  near  here  for  a 
while — perhaps  go  away  in  the  spring  and  try  to  induce  France 
or  Germany  to  take  up  the  Hacallister  Repeater.  You  know  about 
it." 

"I  know.  Hideous  thing!  You  can  kill  seven  people  seveu 
miles  off  in  seventy  seconds.  Isn't  that  it  ? n 

"That's  about  it." 

"And  if  fifteen  persons  are  interested  in  the  lives  of  each  you 
can  make  seven  times  fifteen — seven  times  ten,  seventy,  sevea 
times  five  thirty-five — seventy  and  thirty  is  one  hundred  and  five 
is  five — you  can  actually  make  one  hundred  and  five  people  un- 
happy all  at  once  in  seventy  seconds.  Oh,  Mr.  Vance,  I  do  con- 
gratulate you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart !  " 

"Yes,  and  if  it  were  a  hundred  and  five  thousand  perhaps  na- 
tions would  think  twice  before  rushing  into  war." 

"I  think  I  see  your  idea.    Perhaps  you're  right." 

We  were  in  the  large  front  drawing-room  nearly  alone.  Some- 
thing in  human  form  was  waiting  till  its  carriage  was  announced, 
and  airing  its  skirts  at  a  fire  in  the  back  drawing-room.  Jeannie 
and  her  husband  were  seeing  guests  out  down  below,  with  an 
amount  of  shouting  and  riot  that  seemed  quite  out  of  proportion 
to  the  actual  size  of  the  ostensible  cause  of  the  gathering;  on 
whose  behalf  I  heard  appeals  for  silence,  lest  he  should  be  waked. 
But  no  sooner  had  the  noise  subsided  than  alarums  were  heard  as 
of  a  six-weeks-old  baby  in  a  violent  passion — possibly  the  result 
of  the  sudden  silence.  Then  of  a  rush  of  succour  and  apology 
from  below.  Then  of  a  belated  carriage  arriving  in  a  hurry  for 
the  human  creature,  who  (never  having  been  introduced  to  Janey 
or  me)  expressed  by  a  graceful  movement  the  great  sweetness  she 
would  have  shown  us  had  we  not  been  separated  by  an  impassable 
gulf,  and  vanished  from  our  lives  forever.  As  soon  as  she  was 
gone  we  got  a  little  stiffer,  because  we  were  alone.  Although  not 
introduced  she  had  served  as  a  sort  of  buffer  state,  through  whom 
no  contraband  could  pass.  Less  metaphorically,  there  could  be 
neither  reminiscence  nor  recrimination  while  she  was  so  near  at 
hand. 

I  can  assure  you  it  is  a  very  odd  sensation  to  be  left  alone  with 
a  young  lady  who  two  years  before  you  had  made  certain  would 
be  your  wife.  One  effect  it  had  on  me  was  to  make  me  recite  to 


JOSEPH  VANCE  289 

myself  that  portion  of  a  letter  I  should  shortly  w^rte  which  would 
describe  the  oddness  of  that  sensation  to — Lossie!  (This  simulta- 
neous arrangement  of  a  letter  to  Lossie  occurred  alongside  all 
notable  events.)  A  perceptibly  awkward  silence  followed.  It  was 
a  mistake  in  me  to  stay  after  the  exit  of  the  human  carriage-owner. 
And  every  minute  of  irresolution  made  a  bolt  more  difficult.  I 
felt  it  necessary  to  say  something  about  something,  and  decided 
on  weather.  At  the  end  of  November  it  was  safe  to  say  we  should 
soon  have  Christmas  round  again,  and  I  committed  myself  so  far. 
Janey  looked  at  a  newspaper  and  wondered  if  it  was  to-day's.  I 
wished  Jeannie  or  Bony  would  desert  their  treasure  and  coine  to 
the  rescue ;  but  neither  came.  I  felt  that  absolute  silence  wouldn't 
do  and  to  break  it  told  a  deliberate  lie  without  a  particle  of  foun- 
dation. 

"  There's  very  little  in  the  newspapers  nowadays." 
"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  I  felt  it  was  unfair  of  Janey  to  resort  to 
the  Daily  News,  because  it  gave  her  an  appearance  of  tranquillity 
and  self-command  as  she  stood  pretending  to  read  it,  and  I  had  no 
counter-resource.  I  evaded  the  point,  and  hoped  nothing  was  the 
matter  with  Baby.  "Perhaps  I  ought  to  go  up  and  see,"  said 
Janey.  I  thought  of  saying  please  don't,  and  contrasted  it  with 
please  do;  but  neither  seemed  good,  on  reflection.  Janey  turned 
her  eyes  off  the  paper  to  hear  better,  and  apparently  thinking  that 
silence  was  suspicious,  decided  on  going  up.  But  when  she  got  to 
the  door  she  shook  off  all  disguises,  and  quite  suddenly  coming 
out  of  ambush  with,  "  Come,  Mr.  Vance,  I  told  you  you  had  spoiled 
a  good  friendship,  and  so  you  had.  But  there's  no  reason  why 
we  shouldn't  have  a  good  acquaintanceship— so  shake  hands  on  it 
and  really  forget  and  forgive  all  round," — held  out  her  hand  to  me 
and  met  mine  with  a  cordial  shake,  running  away  upstairs  before 
I  had  time  to  do  more  than  acquiesce. 

I  sat  arranging  the  relation  of  all  this  to  Lossie,  and  awaiting  the 
reappearance  of  Bony  or  Jeannie.  The  part  of  the  letter  I 
found  most  troublesome  was  the  proof  of  my  certainty  of  what 
Miss  Spencer  had  thought  when  I  mentioned  the  whiskey-bottle. 
I  could  exactly  picture  Lossie  to  myself  saying,  "  Silly  boy !  How 
can  he  be  so  fanciful ! "  and  then  I  wondered  whether  she  had 
kept  her  complexion  in  the  hot  climate,  and  would  she  come  back 
thin  and  dry?  I  worded  some  enquiries  on  these  points  for  the 
letter.  "  But  I  want  you  to  tell  me  more  about  Janey  Spencer," 
said  the  image  in  my  mind.  "  Never  mind  whether  I'm  thick  or 
thin — you'll  see  some  day ! "  So  I  filled  out  the  unwritten  letter 
with  particulars  of  how  unhappy  it  made  me  to  think  of  the 


290  JOSEPH  VANCE 

motive  Janey  appeared  to  ascribe  to  me.  "I  know  I  shall  say 
something  about  it  to  her  and  break  up  all  the  old  ground  again 
[so  the  letter  was  to  run]  if  I  see  much  of  her,"  and  the  image  of 
Lossie  brushed  back  its  hair  in  the  old  way,  and  the  blue-grey 
eyes  looked  at  me  in  the  old  way  from  under  the  same  long  eye- 
lashes, and  it  said  in  the  old  voice,  "  You  silly  Joe  Vance !  Make 
up  your  mind  one  way  or  the  other.  If  you  don't  love  Janejr 
Spencer  at  least  half  as  much  as  you  love  me,  keep  out  of  her 
way  and  make  an  end  of  it."  So  I  resolved  to  follow  a  previously 
declared  intention,  and  go  back  home  to  dinner,  and  as  I  chose  to 
consider  that  I  should  be  acting  unselfishly  in  going  away  without 
disturbing  any  one,  I  went  down  alone,  and  found  my  coat  and 
hat  and  umbrella.  But  I  was  reckoning  without  my  host,  for 
Bony  came  running  down,  having  heard  me  on  the  stairs.  Did  I 
make  a  noise  on  purpose,  I  wonder  ? 

"  I  say,  old  chap,  you  must  stop  to  dinner — you  really  must" 
then  in  a  lower  tone,  "  You  know,  Janey  will  be  very  uncomf ort' 
able  if  you  don't.  She'll  think  you  haven't  forgiven  her." 

"  Oh,  but  indeed — it's  nothing  to  do  with  Janey.  It's  only  be- 
cause I  must  get  a  letter  off  to  etc.,  etc.,  and  I've  got  to  post  a 
cheque  to  etc.,  etc.,  and  I've  got  to  meet  etc.,  etc.,  at  half-past  six 
to-morrow  morning,"  and  more  to  the  same  effect. 

"  Yes,  but  Janey's  sure  to  think  it's  her.  And  the  poor  girl  has 
been  doing  the  best  she  can  to  make  things  comfortable.  And 
just  consider  how  uncomfortable  it  will  be  if  she  marries  Oliver 
Thorpe,  and  you  don't  feel  on  an  easy  footing." 

"  Ho !  "  said  I.    "  Janey's  going  to  marry  Nolly !  " 

"Well!  /  don't  know.  I  say  nothing.  Only  Jeannie  says  he 
admires  her  very  much." 

"  It's  not  up  to  congratulation  point,  anyhow  ? " 

"  Better  ask  Jeannie — remember,  I  know  nothing — perhaps  it's 
only  an  idea  of  hers.  You'd  better  stop  and  then  she'll  tell  you." 

My  two  identities  decided  to  stop  to  dinner  on  two  different 
grounds.  I,  because  I  felt  securer  against  any  possible  revival  of 
an  old  story,  and  also  because  I  felt  glad  to  hear  of  the  new  one 
for  Nolly's  sake;  and  Joe  No.  2  because  he  felt  hurt  and  didn't 
know  why,  and  because  he  had  an  unreasonable  objection  to  Janey 
marrying  any  one  else.  "  Plow  can  you  have  one  ? "  said  I  to  him. 
"  Kemember  the  life  you  led  me  at  Oxford  four  years  ago ! " 
"Anyhow,  he  should  stop  to  dinner,"  so  he  said. 

What  followed  convinces  me  now  that  if  it  is  rash  to  reckon 
without  one's  host,  it  is  still  rasher  to  reckon  without  one's 
hostess.  You  see,  a  young  lady  who  has  married  her  first  love 


JOSEPH  VANCE  291 

with  no  greater  hardships  than  are  involved  in  a  two  years'  en- 
gagement, spent  in  looking  at  premises  (which  as  long  as  you 
are  not  obliged  to  come  to  conclusions  is  the  greatest  joy  on  earth), 
going  to  dances,  and  unpacking  the  wedding  presents  to  look  at 
them — such  a  young  lady,  I  say,  if  all  goes  well  in  her  first  year 
of  matrimony,  is  sure  to  want  all  her  single  friends  to  be  as 
happy  as  herself.  Therefore  Jeannie,  who  at  seventeen  was  al- 
ready an  inveterate  matchmaker,  was  no  sooner  married  than  she 
turned  to,  and  almost  pushed  all  the  eligibles  into  one  another's 
arms.  She  thought  nothing  of  asking  early  twenties  to  lunch 
with  late  teens,  in  carelessly  selected  couples,  and  comparing  the 
colour  of  their  eyes  and  hair  across  the  table.  If  they  were  nearly 
the  same  length,  she  would  measure  them  back  to  back.  The 
pretences  she  would  make  in  order  that  they  should  be  left  alone 
in  the  garden  or  drawing-room  really  rose  to  the  height  of  a  Fine 
Art.  A  panic-stricken  couple  so  entrapped  had  been  known  to 
seek  refuge  in  a  mutual  confession  of  plighted  troth  elsewhere. 
But  Jeannie  scored,  for  in  six  months  they  were  both  faithless, 
and,  as  she  triumphantly  said,  had  made  it  up  after  all! 

Therefore  for  any  two  unmarried  persons  of  opposite  sexes  to 
remain  to  dinner  at  Mrs.  Jeannie's  was  really  to  put  their  heads 
in  the  lioness's  mouth.  Of  course  Janey  and  I,  who  were  in  a 
sense  the  two  Protomartyrs  of  her  system  of  persecution,  were  on 
our  guards.  But  this  only  made  Mrs.  Macallister  more  un- 
scrupulous. 

Whether  she  said  to  her  husband,  "There  now!  He's  going 
away — he's  running  away  from  Janey !  I  told  you  he  would !  Do- 
run  down  and  say  she's  engaged  to  Mr.  Thorpe,"  I  don't  know, 
but  if  she  did  it  was  clever.  For  it  made  my  image  of  Lossie  in 
India  say,  "  You  see,  you  silly  Goose,  it's  all  been  settled  for  you. 
So  now  you  needn't  fuss."  And  I  joined  the  trio  at  dinner  in  a 
spirit  of  honest  acquiescence  in  the  "good  acquaintanceship." 

We  chatted  in  full  familiarity  over  my  Father's  intended  mar- 
riage. Jeannie  and  Bony  each  rotated  on  the  axis  of  Duty  in 
connection  with  settlements,  which  came  forward  somehow,  un- 
sought by  me.  "  There  ought  to  be  a  settlement,"  said  both 
solemnly. 

"  That's  what  Nolly  and  I  are  always  quarrelling  about,"  said 
I;  "he's  getting  quite  a  great  authority  on  these  matters,  I  un- 
derstand." 

I  never  saw  more  perfect  unconsciousness  and  candour  in  two 
hazel  eyes  in  my  life  than  in  the  pair  that  looked  at  me  across  the 
table. 


292  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  I  haven't  seen  Mr.  Oliver  Thorpe  for  ever  so  long,"  said  their 
owner.  "  How  is  he  ? " 

I  don't  think  the  glance  that  crossed  the  other  diameter  of  the 
table  was  nearly  so  unconscious — it  was  equally  guilty  each  way, 
I  suspect.  I  was  surprised — agreeably,  Joe  No.  2  said,  but  I 
denied  it  viciously,  and  felt  I  could  kick  him.  Janey  looked  at  me 
for  an  answer  to  her  question,  with  added  enquiry  about  my  sur- 
prise. Jeannie  showed  presence  of  mind,  and  dragged  Janey 
away  upstairs  abruptly,  before  I  could  answer  either  enquiry.  I 
realized  that  I  should  hear  more  about  that,  before  the  evening 
was  over. 

There  were  alarums  and  excursions  upstairs  while  we  smoked 
our  cigars;  causing  Bony  to  take  his  out  of  his  mouth  to  listen — 
but  it  was  evidently  too  good  to  desert.  Besides,  the  household 
was  always  fermenting  about  its  new  member.  We  smoked  to 
scorch-point  and  then  found  Janey  alone  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Jeannie's  just  gone  up  again,"  said  she.  "  But  Fm  sure 
Baby's  all  right — I  was  up  there  just  now."  But  the  anxious 
Father  (now  there  was  no  cigar  to  finish)  would  not  be  soothed 
with  such  testimony,  and  thought  he  had  better  go  up  and  see. 
So  there  we  were  alone  again — and  the  protection  of  the  alleged 
engagement  to  Nolly  much  more  than  doubtful. 

Janey  never  let  the  grass  of  uncertainty  grow  under  her  feet. 
"What  did  you  mean,  Mr.  Vance,  by  looking  so  scared  when  I 
asked  after  Mr.  Oliver  Thorpe  ? " 

When  evasion  is  impossible  one  decides  on  confession,  and 
makes  a  merit  of  it.  I  confessed,  and  continued  apologetically: 

"  It  was  only  a  word  from  Bony  a  few  minutes  before  we  went 
to  dinner.  I  daresay  I  made  too  much  of  it.  When  one  would 
be  very  glad  to  hear  news  if  it  were  true,  one  is  apt  to  think  it  is 
true — one  doesn't  enquire  too  closely."  And  Joe  No.  2  protested 
against  being  included  in  my  profession  of  gladness.  "  In  the 
present  case  I  may  allow  myself  to  say  that  I  thought  my  old 
friend  a  most  fortunate  man."  And  in  order  to  avert  difficult 
personal  metaphysics,  I  endeavoured  to  throw  into  my  remark  an 
ingredient  of  the  polished  Man  of  the  World  who  deems  a  tribute 
to  your  charming  sex  necessary.  It  was  a  failure.  Janey  caught 
the  weak  point  instantly — she  was  a  true  solicitor's  daughter. 

"I  hope  you  thought  me  an  equally  fortunate  woman?" 

"  But  was  there  any  truth  in  it  ? " 

*  None  whatever.     But  did  you  ? " 

"Did  I  what?" 

"  Think  me  an  equally  fortunate  woman  I " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  293 

I  thought  of  trying  the  polished  Man  of  the  World  again,  and 
beginning  with,  "  Far  below  your  deserts,  etc."  But  I  had  failed 
so  before  that  I  gave  it  up.  I  was  very  stupid  not  to  answer 
naturally  that  indeed  I  did,  and  Nolly  was  the  dearest  and  truest 
of  friends,  and  would  make  the  best  of  husbands.  But  an  un- 
called-for candour  made  my  thoughts  come  to  the  surface. 

"  Much  more  fortunate,"  I  said,  "  than  on  a  pre "  and  stuck 

in  the  middle  of  the  word. 

"  Previous  occasion,"  said  Janey  with  decision,  but  then  her 
decision  seemed  to  fail  her  and  she  turned  rather  pale,  I  thought. 
"  Oh  dear,"  said  she,  "  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't.  It  makes  it  so 
difficult,  and  it  doesn't  do  any  good."  And  she  entrenched  herself 
behind  an  illustrated  paper. 

I  looked  at  the  fire  and  forecast  some  more  of  my  letter  to 
Lossie.  It  employed,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  a  most  uncongenial  simile, 
likening  myself  and  Janey  to  two  passengers  in  mid-channel  pre- 
tending all  was  well  with  them,  but  saddened  by  a  well-founded 
anxiety  about  the  unexpired  half  of  the  passage.  I  was  afraid 
that,  if  I  renewed  the  conversation,  Bony  and  Jeannie  (who  stood 
for  Calais  pier)  would  be  too  late  to  avert  whatever  the  painful 
consequences  anticipated  were  an  analogue  of.  The  image  of 
Lossie  looked  at  me  in  my  mind,  and  said,  "Don't  be  a 
nasty  pig,  Joe!  Remember  what  I  said  before."  And  then  I 
said  to  myself,  "I'm  sure  I  do  love  Janey  quite  half  as  much — a 
little  more,  perhaps — yes,  decidedly  a  little  more !  "  And  then  the 
image  said,  "It's  more  than  that,  Joe,  and  you  know  it,  or  you 
would  do  as  I  said  and  keep  out  of  her  way  and  make  an  end  of 
it."  And  I  think  Joe  No.  2  felt  grateful  to  the  image. 

The  analogy  of  Calais  was  a  good  one  in  one  respect — we  were 
very  like  the  two  passengers  in  our  way  of  resorting  to  silence. 
We  felt  it  was  the  best  chance,  and  sat  with  our  mental  eyes  shut, 
waiting  for  the  sound  of  Jeannie  or  Bony  on  the  stairs;  just  as 
they  would  have  shut  their  practical  ones  and  waited  to  hear  that 
the  harbour  lights  were  in  view.  No  voice  of  relief  came  and  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  burst  out  suddenly,  just  as  though 
the  reciprocal  consciousness  and  misgiving  of  the  last  two  hours 
had  been  spoken  conversation. 

"You  may  say  what  you  like,  Janey,  but  you  know  it  wasn't 
to  carry  away  my  poor  old  Dad's  whiskey-bottle  that  I  wanted  you 
for  my  wife."  She  turned  a  little  paler  and  said,  "  But  I  said 
nothing!"  "No,"  said  I,  "but  I  heard  you  think  it  was, 
and  I  can't  bear  that  you  should  think  so."  She  turned  paler 
still. 


294  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  Oh,  how  much  better  to  let  bygones  be  bygones ! "  She  ap- 
pealed to  me  beseechingly. 

"  They  shall  directly.  But  I  must  make  you  know  that  it 
wasn't." 

"  I  do  know  it.  I  do  believe  it — indeed  I  do !  You  don't  sup- 
pose it  was  that  that  made  me " 

"Well,  yes— I  did!  I  thought  it  was— partly,  at  least.  Of 
course  I  thought  most  of  it  was  something  else." 

"  It  was  something  else,"  and  Janey  went  very  white  indeed. 
"  It  was  that  you  were  so  very  fond  of  Lucilla  Desprez.  Let  me 
go,"  for  she  was  making  for  the  door. 

"But  I  was  very — very  fond  of  you."  Janey  shook  her  head 
slowly,  and  smiled. 

"  And  you  were  very — very — very  fond  of  Mrs.  Desprez,"  said 
she.  "  It  was  three  verys  to  my  two.  Much  better  let  the  bygones 
begin  to  be  bygones,  Mr.  \Tance." 

"  I  can't — I  won't !  "  I  cried.  "  Oh,  Janey — dearest  Janey — 
what  could  I  say  without  an  untruth  ? " 

"  Nothing !  It  was  as  it  was.  But  it  is  a  woman's  way  to  ask 
what  she  feels  prepared  to  give,  and  I " 

I  caught  her  in  my  arms  and  burst  into  a  passionate  entreaty  to 
her  to  forgive  me  and  take  me  back.  Whatever  else  was  true  I 
said  it  was  true  that  I  loved  her  better  than  any  other  woman  I 
could  possibly  marry.  "  Recollect,"  I  said,  "  that  if  you  turn  me 
away  again  it  is  to  no  happiness  elsewhere — only  a  black,  dry 
fruitless  world — and  we  may  meet  again  in  the  desert,  as  we 
have  met  to-day,  each  wandering  about  alone."  She  did  not  shrink 
from  me,  but  was  as  white  as  a  sheet.  I  caught  her  up  closer; 
I  could  feel  how  her  heart  beat,  and  still  she  did  not  shrink. 
But  passionately  as  I  spoke  and  felt,  one  of  my  inner  selves  was 
still  speculating  on  how  the  other  would  finish  that  letter  to  Los- 
sie;  while  the  other  was  dimly  conscious  of  an  outside  satisfaction, 
to  come  hereafter,  at  the  happiness  Lossie  would  have  in  reading 
it.  I  doubt  this  being  the  least  intelligible  to  any  one  else — but 
then  I  am  not  writing  any  one  else's  life. 

Janey  showed  no  reaction  against  a  status-quo  that  was  dis- 
tinctly founded  on  the  school  of  Bony  and  Jeannie,  until  a  foot- 
step, or  four  footsteps,  came  on  the  stairs,  and  the  anxious  parents 
entered  full  of  the  frightful  symptoms  Baby  was  showing.  It  was 
Calais  harbour  too  late.  But  they  were  too  preoccupied  to  notice 
our  preoccupation;  and  that  pending  the  arrival  of  a  General 
Practitioner,  we  discussed  Gastro-Enteritis,  Bubonic  Plague,  and 
so  forth  in  an  absent  manner  that  scarcely  rose  to  the  impor- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  295 

tance  of  the  occasion.  After  a  verdict  of  wind,  when  the  doctor 
had  departed,  execrating;  one  general  practice,  to  wit,  that  of  going 
into  panics  about  nothing,  I  went  away  with  Bony  for  a  final 
smoke.  Just  as  we  were  settling  down  we  heard  a  great  laughing 
and  talking  in  a  remote  upper  region. 

"  I  say,"  said  Bony,  "  that  won't  do,  they'll  wake  Baby !  I  won- 
der what  all  the  rumpus  is  about,  though,"  and  he  put  the  door  on. 
the  jar  to  listen  through  it. 

"  I  know  what  it  is  about,"  I  said.  Bony  turned  sharply  round 
and  looked  full  at  me. 

"  No  ? "  said  he — and  no  print  could  express  the  ore  rotunda 
character  of  the  word.  "No?  You  don't  mean  that?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  old  chap." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  am  glad!"  He  said  this  three  times  at 
least  before  enquiring,  "  How  did  you  manage  it,  old  fellow  ? "  and 
then  added,  "I  expect  you  took  a  leaf  out  of  my  book."  I  was 
not  prepared  to  deny  this. 

I  walked  home  through  a  mild  early  Spring  night,  happier  than 
I  had  been  for  a  long  time,  and  wondering  at  the  few  words  that 
had  been  spent  on  the  whole  of  this  transaction.  I  arranged  com- 
ment on  this  for  my  letter  to  Lossie, 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

&UT  HE  DIDN'T  WRITE  THE  LETTER  TO  LOSSIE.  MR.  VANCE'S  DISGUST  AT 
THE  RECRUDESCENCE  OF  THE  WIDOW.  HOW  HE  TOLD  DR.  THORPE, 
AND  THERE  WAS  SOMETHING  AFTER  ALL!  BUT  JEANNIE  WILL  PRO- 
VIDE FOR  NOLLY.  JOE's  WANT  OF  LITERARY  SKILL  JERKS  HIS  TALE 
OUT  OF  GEAR. 

I  WAS  far  too  sleepy  when  I  reached  home  even  to  write  the 
letter  to  Lossie.  Nevertheless,  I  was  up  and  had  breakfasted  be- 
fore my  Father  appeared,  and  had  gone  straight  away  to  Chelsea. 
There  I  found  Janey  reading  letters.  "  Back  again  so  soon  ?  "  said 
she.  "  Yes,"  said  I,  "  come  to  see  you  don't  change  you-  mind." 

"How  do  you  know  anything  about  my  mind?  I  never  said 
anything.  Come  now,  Master  Joseph ! "  This  had  been  picked 
up  from  Pheener  during  our  previous  engagement. 

"  That  doesn't  matter !  Least  said  soonest  mended,  Miss 
Janey."  From  which  it  may  be  inferred  that  the  stage  directions 
of  this  little  drama  had  been  fully  complied  with,  and  that  they 
were  such  as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  the  sentiments  of  the  performers. 

"  I  couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  go  all  through  two  years  ago 
again,"  said  she.  "  I  daresay  I  ought  to  have  done  it.  But  I  was 
so  lonesome  after,  that  I  couldn't  screw  myself  up  to  doing  it 
again.  You  can't  have  had  any  breakfast,  it's  so  early  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  have,  but  I  can  manage  some  more."  For  I  had  run 
away  in  a  hurry,  not  feeling  quite  certain  it  hadn't  all  been  a 
dream.  I  checked  Joe  No.  2  for  remarking  that  though  I  had  ar- 
ranged my  letter  to  Lossie,  I  wasn't  writing  it.  And  when  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Macallister  appeared  they  found  Miss  Spencer  pouring 
out  Mr.  Vance's  coffee !  "  Well,"  said  Jeannie,  "  you  do  look  like 
a  comfortable  couple."  And  I  suppose  ticked  off  one  more  to  her 
score  of  successes. 

I  wanted  to  tell  my  Daddy  (as  well  as  to  write  my  letter),  so  I 
went  back  again  after  just  seeing  Janey  to  some  friends  at  Cado- 
gan  Gardens.  On  the  way  we  just  turned  into  the  Hospital  Gar- 
dens out  o'f  Queen's  Road,  and  just  sat  down  a  few  minutes  in  the 
Avenue.  A  few  quarters  of  an  hour  would  have  been  more  ac- 
curate. When  they  were  over  I  saw  Janey  to  her  friends,  who 

296 


JOSEPH  VANCE  297 

lived  at  a  house  inside  a  Square.  I  went  there  six  months  ago, 
and  it  was  gone.  And  the  Chelsea  of  '64  had  gone  too,  and  some 
rare  old  slums  had  gone  with  it.  And  some  rare  new  slums  have 
taken  their  place,  in  which  I  am  told  the  servants  sleep  in  the 
bath,  to  use  no  bolder  expression.  This  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

After  just  waiting  a  minute  or  two  to  shake  hands  with  Mrs. 
Something,  Janey's  friend,  I  had  to  make  a  bolt  unexplained ;  and 
was  so  late  that  I  only  just  arrived  in  time  to  catch  my  Father 
returning  to  the  works,  having  finished  lunch. 

"Well,  Nipper,"  was  his  greeting,  "what's  the  news  of 
Pimpleses  grandchild  ?  What  did  Pimples  drink  his  health  in  ? " 
He  then  went  on  to  recall  with  pleasure  untoward  incidents  that 
might  happen  at  Christenings,  greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  out- 
siders not  in  sympathy  with  any  religious  body.  "You  mustn't 
jolt  'em  over  the  font,"  said  he,  "  or  there's  no  knowin' !  I  heard 
tell  they  jolted  your  elder  sister  Elizabeth  that  died  in  teething. 
I  wasn't  there  myself.  Your  Mother  told  me."  And  my  Father 
paused  and  became  thoughtful.  Poor  old  Dad! 

"  You're  not  asking  so  many  questions  as  you  might,  Daddy," 
said  I.  He  pondered  a  little  to  find  a  new  question,  and  decided 
on  asking  who  were  the  Godfathers  and  Godmother  of  Master 
Archie.  It  appeared  to  occur  to  him  as  singular  and  rather  scan- 
dalous that  this  lady  and  these  gentlemen  were  not  joined  in 
lawful  wedlock,  and  that  a  good  opportunity  for  making  them 
respectable  had  been  lost.  "  They  might  have  put  the  halter  over 
them  then  and  there,"  said  he,  evidently  confusing  between  the 
stable  and  the  fane.  I  did  not  stop  to  clear  this  up,  but  again 
urged  further  enquiries.  He  said  he  was  no  good  at  guessing 
conundrums,  and  gave  it  up.  Cook  was  sharper,  for  coming  in 
at  this  moment  with  my  lunch,  she  caught  his  last  words  and 
exclaimed, — "  Law,  Master,  can't  you  see  ?  It's  a  young  lady  2  " 
And  I  admitted  that  this  was  the  case. 

"  Well  done  the  Nipper !  "  And  my  Father,  who  was  just  pack- 
ing his  scarf  round  his  throat  to  face  the  outer  air,  undid  it  again 
to  sit  down  and  enjoy  a  good  laugh  over  the  event.  "Well — 
done — the — Nipper!  And  this  time  it  ain't  a  widder?" 

"  No,  it  certainly  is  not."  But  my  Father  fixed  a  suspicious  eye 
on  me,  and  shook  the  head  of  the  unconvinced. 

"  The  Nipper  is  at  some  game,"  said  he.  "  He's  gammoning  his 
old  Dad." 

"  No,  Dad,  honour  bright !  She  isn't  a  widow,  whatever  she  is." 
But  the  use  of  the  expression  honour  bright  convinced  him  that  I 
was,  as  he  put  it,  prequivocating. 


298  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  Spit  it  out,  Nipper  dear/-'  said  he.  Whereon  I  admitted  that 
though  she  wasn't  a  widow,  she  was  the  same  young  lady  that 
hadn't  been  a  widow  before.  It  was  a  sad  come-down.  Cook, 
though,  tried  to  put  the  best  face  she  could  on  the  matter,  and 
said,  well  she  declared  now,  think  of  that!  But  the  gilt  was  evi- 
dently off  her  gingerbread.  As  for  my  Father,  he  really  looked 
seriously  concerned  on  my  behalf,  and  strove  to  console  me. 

"  Never  mind,  Joey  dear !  Cheer  up !  We'll  put  it  she  ain't  a 
widder,  and  start  fair  aceordin'.  But  you  might  have  told  me  and 
Cook,  instead  of  keeping  of  it  back.  Hay,  Cook?"  The  extrac- 
tion of  this  small  amount  of  grievance  made  him  happy  and  nasal, 
but  Cook  was  evidently  inwardly  depressed,  as  I  judged  from  the 
way  in  which  she  said,  "  And  the  partridge  a-getting  cold  too," 
showing  that  she  likened  my  engagement  to  a  lunch  that  has  been 
"kept  warm,"  which  is  equivalent  to  being  brought  back  cool.  I 
felt  sorry  for  Cook. 

I  have  discovered  by  this  time  of  my  life  that  families  are 
almost  always  disappointed  with  the  Persons  of  their  Choice,  the 
immediate  Choosers  alone  excepted.  They  may  be  generous  and 
conceal  it,  or  they  may  gather  themselves  up  for  a  good  collective 
tiger-spring,  and  go  straight  for  the  throat  of  the  innocent  in- 
truder. But  they  will  only  have  a  true  heartfelt  welcome  for  him 
or  her  when  they  don't  want  the  other  party  for  themselves.  Then 
they  will  acknowledge  the  kindness  of  Miss  Jones  in  taking  their 
little  brother  Cain  or  Judas  or  Caracalla  off  their  hands,  and  will 
hope  Miss  Jones  will  have  a  steadying  effect.  Or  vice  versa. 
Knowing  this,  I  was  not  surprised  at  my  Dad's  immediate  dis- 
satisfaction with  the  name  of  Jane  Spencer,  when  we  were  first 
engaged.  He  had  formed  an  ideal  on  my  behalf  and  the  name  of 
it  had  several  syllables,  say  Iphigenia  in  Tauris  or  Clytffimnestra. 
Having  expressed  his  low  opinion  of  Janey,  by  imputing  es- 
sential widowhood  to  her,  and  the  attributes  of  a  laundress,  I 
knew  him  too  well  to  suppose  he  would  retract.  He  would 
acknowledge  that  he  had  been  drunk,  with  perfect  candour,  but  he 
never  admitted  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  So  I  was  not  as- 
tonished at  his  looking  rather  blank  over  the  recrudescence  of 
Janey — on  the  contrary,  I  thought  it  a  concession  on  his  part  to 
surrender  her  widowhood  and  start  fair. 

But  I  was  painfully  conscious,  when  I  broke  my  agreeable  news 
to  Dr.  Thorpe,  that  there  was  something  behind  his  otherwise 
most  cordial  reception  of  it — something  that  made  me  feel  that  I 
had  been  too  confident.  It  was  so  slight  that  a  moment  after  I 
thought  that  I  must  have  been  mistaken  and  the  unpleasant  feel- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  299 

ing  went  off.  But  I  felt  it  again  when  I  told  Nolly,  who  had  come, 
as  I  did,  on  a  usual  Sunday.  He  put  too  much  side  on  in  his 
congratulations  and  spoke,  I  thought,  with  a  certain  amount  of 
effort,  and  an  artificially  exhilarated  tone.  I  suddenly  recollected 
Bony's  allegation  about  Nolly  and  Janey.  There  must  have  been 
something  in  it ! 

There  could  be  no  concealments  between  me  and  Dr.  Thorpe. 
That  would  have  been  contrary  to  nature.  So  I  spoke  straight  to 
him  about  it  after  Nolly  had  departed  when  we  were  together  in 
the  Library  after  lunch.  "  Why — there  was  something,"  said  he, 
"but  I  don't  know  if  one  could  fairly  describe  it  as  anything 
between  Nolly  and  Miss  Spencer;  for  Nolly  made  the  mistake  of 
not  taking  the  lady  into  his  confidence — not  enough,  that  is.  He 
spoke  to  her  Father  and  asked  his  leave  to  speak  to  Janey — and 
her  Father  took  upon  himself  to  say  she  would  be  unpropitious. 
It  struck  me  as  an  unusually  rash  act  in  Spencer  to  vouch  for 
anything!  But  I  suppose  he  had  his  reasons.  I  could  have  un- 
derstood his  merely  discouraging  an  engagement  on  the  ground  of 
the  incautiousness  of  marriage.  But  he  went  further  and  took 
the  responsibility  of  heading  Nolly  off  altogether.  Nolly  couldn't 
very  well  run  counter  to  his  principal;  so  he  kept  away  and  con- 
soled himself  with  cricket.  This  was  more  than  six  months 
ago." 

"Do  you  know,  Doctor,  I  can't  suppose  Janey  ever  knew 
anything  about  it — indeed,  I'm  sure  she  didn't,  from  a  lot  of 
things." 

"  Do  you  think  she  ought  to  be  told,  and  given  her  choice  ? — all 
go  back  and  make  a  fresh  start?  I  shouldn't  recommend  it,  even 
if  you  thought  it  would  be  easy  to  negotiate.  I  don't.  Moreover, 
I  suspect  that  her  Father  knew  what  he  was  about."  I  thought 
so  too,  as  I  knew  how  devoted  she  was  to  him. 

I  got  an  opportunity  of  sounding  Mrs.  Macallister  as  to  how  she 
came  by  her  information  about  Nolly,  as  I  was  perfectly  certain 
Janey  was  absolutely  unconscious.  But  Jeannie  was  quite  unable 
to  quote  any  authorities — had  only  seen  the  parties  together  once. 
iWas  he  very  empresse  in  his  manner?  I  asked. 

"  Spooney,  do  you  mean  ?  No — not  particularly.  But  anybody 
could  tell — any  girl,  I  mean.  The  way  he  spoke  of  her  as  Miss 
Spencer,  and  kept  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Heaps  of  things ! 
As  for  Janey,  she's  just  a  born  goose  with  no  eyes  at  all.  Never 
sees  anything." 

"  She  knows  nothing  about  it  now  ? " 

*  Nothing  whatever,  and  I  shan't  tell  her.    Oh  yes !  of  course 


300  JOSEPH  VANCE 

I've  talked  to  her  about  him — chaffed  her  a  little — but  she  only 
said  she  wished  he  was  a  little  more  talkative.  Please  touch  that 
bell  near  you,  Mr.  Vance.  I  want  to  know  if  Baby's  asleep.'' 
Baby  was,  according  to  Nurse's  testimony;  and  Jeannie  resumed, 
looking  thoughtfully  at  the  fire : — 

"  There  must  be  somebody  now  that  would  do  nicely  for  your 
cousin " 

"He's  not  my  cousin — he's  no  relation." 

"Well!  Your  whatever  he  is!  There  now!  I'd  just  thought 
of  somebody,  and  you  put  her  out  of  my  head.  Oh,  I  know! — 
Priscilla  Middleton.  Oh  no — by-the-bye! — she's  going  to  marry  a 
man  with  a  bottle  nose  and  check  trousers.  What  a  silly  I  am! 
Well,  but  I'll  tell  you  who  there  is — of  course — there's  Maisie 
"Maxey — the  very  thing!  Why,  she's  seen  him  already,  at  Lord's, 
and  said  how  nice  he  looked  in  his  flannels !  " 

"  But  that  child !     Come,  I  say,  Mrs.  Bony,  draw  it  mild !  " 

"  Child  indeed !  She's  nearly  seventeen,  and  he's  twenty-seven. 
It's  quite  ideal."  And  Jeannie's  beautiful  face  beamed  with  joy 
in  the  flicker  of  the  firelight.  And  little  did  Mr.  Prentice  Maxey, 
her  papa,  and  Lady  Sarah  Maxey,  her  mamma,  dream  of  the 
snares  that  were  being  laid  for  their  daughter  by  that  pretty 
Engineer's  wife  Maisie  was  so  thick  with.  It's  so  long  ago  now 
that  I  can't  recall  why  I  have  an  impression  that  these  parents  had 
misgivings  over  the  acquaintances  Miss  Maisie  had  picked  up. 
But  I  had  one,  and  keep  it  still;  and  have  now  a  version  of  it 
which  murmurs  that  the  Oliver  Thorpes  give  themselves  airs 
because  Maisie  Thorpe,  the  one  that  was  so  like  her  Aunt  Lucilla, 
married  her  cousin  the  present  Earl.  However,  this  is  antipica- 
tion  with  a  vengeance! — • 

Jeannie  had  an  easy  job  this  time.  For  really  she  contributed 
very  little  to  the  result.  Beyond  getting  me  to  bring  Nolly  over 
one  evening,  and  exposing  him  to  the  large  blue  eyes  of  the  Earl's 
granddaughter,  like  a  photographic  sensitized  surface,  she  hardly 
did  a  hand's  turn.  However,  she  was  too  honourable  to  make  a 
parade  of  her  achievement,  and  admitted  that  it  was  Maisie's  own 
doing  entirely.  She  described  the  position  in  terms  that  would 
have  done  honour  to  my  Mother.  "  When  a  girl,"  said  she,  "  jams 
her  head  down  a  man's  throat,  he  naturally  takes  up  the  gaunt- 
lot!" 

Nolly  certainly  took  up  the  gauntlet,  and  the  tournament  came 
off  about  two  years  later  at  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.  The 
girl's  Mother  made  a  great  fight,  on  social  grounds,  no  one  of  her 
family  having  ever  fallen  so  low  as  a  Solicitor.  But  she  was  out- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  301 

flanked  and  routed  by  the  Earl,  her  father,  on  whom  it  suddenly 
dawned  that  Oliver  Thorpe  was  the  son  of  ike  Dr.  Thorpe,  where- 
upon he  descended  on  Poplar  Villa  one  day,  to  the  Doctor's  sur- 
prise, to  express  the  unbounded  satisfaction  that  he  felt  at  his 
granddaughter  marrying  the  son  of  so  illustrious  a  man.  He  was 
a  Biological  or  Ethnological  or  Psychological  Earl — I  really  for- 
get which ! 

Nolly  was  therefore  married  about  twelve  months  after  Janey 
and  myself.  His  wife  is  living  still,  as  I  happen  to  know.  I  saw 
her  name  recently  in  the  Morning  Post,  and  learned  that  she  was  a 
Primrose  Dame.  Perhaps  if  they  ever  speculate  about  me,  they 
wonder  if  I  am  still  in  Brazil,  or  what  has  become  of  me;  strange, 
isn't  it,  if  this  should  be  true? — seeing  what  narrative  my  last 
paragraph  was  the  end  of.  If  it  isn't  true,  something  equally 
strange  is.  For,  consider  the  meaning  of  thirty  years! 

When  I  am  writing  of  the  past,  it  comes  back  so  vividly,  each 
recovered  incident  constantly  supplying  recollection  of  something 
else,  that  I  can  almost  hear  the  voices  that  even  now,  some  of  them, 
may  sometimes  speak  of  me.  I  can  see  Jeannie's  glorious  auburn 
hair  glowing  in  the  firelight,  as  she  hatches  her  little  scheme  for 
entrapping  Nolly  and  the  Primrose  Dame  above  mentioned!  I 
can  hear  muffled  cab-wheels  on  the  snow  outside,  and  Jeannie  says, 
"  That's  Janey — I  was  afraid  she  wouldn't  come."  And  then  I 
meet  Janey  in  the  passage,  coming  warm  and  living  out  of  the 
snow,  and  shaking  it  off  her  sealskin,  and  in  want  of  half-a-crown 
for  the  Hansom — 

And  I  can  almost  hear  the  words!  And  then  it  all  dies  away 
and  I  am  alone  in St.,  Bloomsbury,  on  a  blank  and  feature- 
less Saturday  night — not  even  a  thick  fog,  only  a  thin  one — with 
a  piano-organ  playing  the  tune  I  know  as  Carmen  in  this  street, 
and  a  band  of  a  harp  and  cornet  at  the  George  the  Fourth  round 
the  corner.  The  cornet  plays  a  note  at  a  time,  with  Geological 
periods  between,  and  I  discern  that  this  style  lends  itself  to 
Patriotic  music,  and  am  stirred  accordingly.  But  I  shall  be  glad 
when  Midnight  comes  and  closes  George,  and  scatters  the  Band 
as  though  it  was  marauders,  and  goes  away  refreshed  by  a  gratu- 
itous half-pint  George  has  bestowed  upon  it. 

And  then  I  sit  and  think  of  that  dear  wife  of  mine  that  I  lost  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago — I  think  of  the  happy  weeks  we  passed 
after  our  happy  wedding,  in  the  Summer  of  '64,  chiefly  at  old 
French  towns,  on  the  coast  or  inland;  of  happy  wanderings  on 
the  endless  sands,  and  wallowing  in  them  in  the  sun  after  stop- 


302  JOSEPH  VANCE 

ping  much  too  long  in  the  water ;  of  equally  happy  tramps  or  rides 
through  endless  avenues  of  stripped  tree-trunks,  and  round  inter- 
minable obsolete  fortifications  where  my  imagination  heard  the 
Macallister  Repeater  destroying  fathers  of  families  at  distances 
undreamed  of  by  the  men  who  built  them.  And  as  something 
always  stands  out  clear,  the  most  vivid  thing  of  all  is  one  partic- 
ular rosy  fat  fishwife,  and  the  sweet  candour  with  which  she  asked 
when  Janey  expected  her  fils?  No  such  party  was  in  sight,  but 
Marie  Favre,  or  whatever  her  name  was,  took  him  for  granted,  sex 
and  all — 

And  then  I  recollect  that  it  was  after  a  long,  long  talk  on  the 
sands,  that  we  chatted  with  Madame  Favre.  The  tide  was  flowing 
and  made  us  jump  up  and  go  higher  at  intervals,  but  we  had  time 
for  half  of  our  talk  before  we  were  driven  up  into  a  pleasant  smell 
of  crab-shells  baking  in  the  sun,  and  unto  crackly  colourless  dead 
seaweed  and  flotsam  and  jetsam,  where  we  had  the  other  half. 
And  the  subject  of  all  this  talk  was — Lossie! 

For  we  very  often  talked  of  Lossie.  And  of  this  I  am  certain, 
— that  this  dear  wife  of  mine,  whom  I  lost  so  long  ago,  was  the 
only  creature  in  this  mortal  world  to  whom  I  ever  spoke  on  the 
subject  without  reserve.  To  Lossie  I  wrote  (without  reserve)  on 
every  other  subject.  To  her  father  I  never  spoke  directly  at  all, 
although  each  of  us  knew  the  other  saw  into  his  mind.  But  even 
though  I  write  this  record  now,  as  one  who  strives  to  show  his 
whole  soul  faithfully  and  truly,  and  does  it  with  full  deliberation 
and  forethought  as  a  kind  of  self-imposed  exercise  that,  while  it 
tries  him,  helps  him  on  in  facing  the  lonely  time,  yet  I  shall  never 
succeed  in  being  one-half  as  intelligible  to  you  (assuming  your 
existence),  as  I  was  to  Janey  that  morning  on  the  beach  at 
Fecamp.  If  I  could  do  that,  I  believe  I  should  have  your  pity  and 
sympathy,  as  I  had  hers. 

"  But,  Jack  darling,"  she  had  said, — we  called  each  other  Jack 
and  Jill,  she  having  christened  me  Jack, — "  what  a  goose  you  were 
not  to  say,  '  Miss  Lucilla  dear/  or  whatever  you  called  her,  *  Fm 
so  fond  of  you  that  if  ever  1  lose  you  I  shall  go  mad  or  die/  or 
something  of  that  sort !  J  ust  think  how  happy  you  might  have 
been  I  It  does  seem  such  a  pity." 

"  Because  I  didn't  know  it  myself.  If  you  were  to  pull  all  my 
hair  out  by  the  roots " 

"  Am  I  pulling  too  hard? " 

"No,  darling,  pull  away — it's  merely  an  illustration!  If  you 
were  to  pull  it  all  out  by  the  roots,  and  scratch  my  eyes  out,  I 
couldn't  say  otherwise.  I  no  more  knew  what  a  thunderbolt  there 


JOSEPH  VANCE  303 

was  in  the  bush  a  minute  before  Dr.  Thorpe  spoke  of  her  engage- 
ment to  me  at  Oxford  than  a  babe  unborn." 

"Thunderbolts  don't  live  in  bushes — never  mind!  But  do  tell 
me,  Jacky  darling,  quite  seriously  what  you  suppose  would  have 
happened — if  for  instance  it  had  turned  out  after  the  thunderbolt 
came  out  of  the  bush,  that  Dr.  Thorpe  didn't  mean  engaged  to  be 
married,  but  engaged — say — as  leading  lady  at  the  Haymarket. 
Surely  you  would  have  known  what  was  wrong  then  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  should,  dearest  Jilly !  And  I  should  have  gone 
straight  to  Lossie,  and  taken  her  into  my  confidence." 

"  And  what  do  you  suppose  she  would  have  done — or  said  ? " 

"I  know  exactly.  She  would  have  pushed  her  loose  hair  back 
and  looked  at  me  with  her  eyelids  just  dropped  a  little  and  her 
mouth  open — not  like  the  hippopotamus  at  the  Zoo — but  her  lips 
just  parted." 

"  And  she  would  have  said  ? " 

"  She  would  have  said  quite  suddenly,  '  Oh,  you  dear  silly  boy, 
do  you  suppose  you  are  the  only  little  brother  that  ever  was  sorry 
to  lose  his  big  sister  ? '  And  I  should  no  more  have  known  how  to 
explain  than  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"  Is  he  such  a  bad  hand  at  an  explanation  ?  But  she  would 
have  understood  at  once.  All  women  do " 

"  She  wouldn't  have,  dearest  Jill.  She  would  have  supposed  I 
was  asking  for  something  she  could  not  give,  and  I  should  only 
have  been  asking  to  keep  what  I  had  got." 

"  And  keeping  what  you  had  got  was  incompatible  with  Lucilla 
Thorpe  marrying  anybody  else?"  Whereon  Joey  No.  2,  in  my 
inner  consciousness,  where  he  had  been  getting  restive,  became 
riotous  and  shouted,  "  It  was — you  know  it  was !  Don't  be  a 
hypocrite  and  deny  it."  So  I  said  feebly,  "I'm  afraid  that  was 
the  case." 

"Very  well,  then,  Master  Jack,"  said  Janey,  "now  we  come  to 
the  point.  (Be  quiet — it's  only  a  sandhopper!)  Now  we  come  to 
the  point.  You  expected  everything  to  remain  in  statu  quo  till 
you  woke  up.  Wasn't  that  it?" 

"Yes — I  think  it  might  be  truer  to  say  I  didn't  expect  it  not 
to  remain  so.  But  we  won't  quarrel  about  a  phrase.  Perhaps  I 
had  sometimes  been  just  conscious  enough  of  an  idea  that  Lossie 
might  marry  knocking  at  the  door  of  my  mind,  to  shut  the  door 
in  its  face.  But  when  I  shut  the  door  I  never  looked  out  of  the 
window  to  see  who  knocked." 

"You  dear  self -deceiving  Jack!  You  never  looked  out  because 
you  knew  what  you  would  see."  And  Joe  No.  2,  whose  eye  was 


304  JOSEPH  VANCE 

fixed  on  me  as  a  cat's  on  a  mouse,  and  to  whom  I  knew  I  should 
fall    a    prey,    said,    "Now,    Joe    Vance,   what    do   you   make    of 

ttotf 

I  could  make  nothing  against  the  two  of  them,  so  I  gave  it  up. 
Also  at  this  moment  a  long  crested  wave  rose  out  of  the  blue  far 
away,  and  the  sea-birds  must  have  told  it  that  the  tide  was  coming 
in  very  slowly  at  Fecamp,  for  it  came  steadily  on  to  the  shore, 
pooh-poohing  the  little  presumptuous  splashes  and  ripples  that 
had  been  making  believe  in  the  sunshine,  and  poured  its  two  miles 
of  crest  on  the  sheet  of  glass  before  it,  and  rushed  straight  over  it 
with  a  musical  roar.  And  when  it  retired  after  charging  up  the 
sloping  sands  at  the  population,  it  did  so  with  every  reason  to  be 
proud  of  its  success  in  wetting  fugitives  to  the  skin.  And  as 
soon  as  they  were  audible  again,  the  gulls  could  be  heard  egging  ( <n 
another,  even  bigger,  to  go  and  do  likewise. 

Janey  and  I  escaped  with  very  small  casualties,  and  retired  to 
a  plateau  of  little  clear  pebbles,  all  one  bigness.  I  can  remember 
running  my  hands  through  them  as  we  settled  down. 

"  What  were  we  talking  of — oh !  Lossie  Desprez.  Well,  Jacky 
dearest,  whatever  you  may  say  to  the  contrary,  I  cannot  help 
thinking  something  might  have  been  done.  If  you  had  only 
sounded  a  note  of  warning,  who  knows  but  what  she  would  never 
have  fallen  in  love  with  Sir  Hugh.  And  then  think  how  jolly  it 
might  have  been!"  I  was  just  going  to  assent  to  this,  when  I 
perceived  that  Joe  No.  2  was  sneering  cynically,  and  this  sug- 
gested another  view  of  the  case. 

"  But,  Jill  darling — stop  a  minute !  If  it  had  come  out  like 
that,  I  should  never  have  been  sitting  here  with  you — that  would 
never  do  at  all !  " 

"No,"  said  Janey,  thoughtfully,  "it's  a  bad  fix!  But  then," 
she  added,  as  one  on  whom  a  light  breaks,  "don't  you  see?  I 
shouldn't  have  been  in  it  at  all !  You  would  have  been  nothing  to 
me  but  Miss  Lossie's  schoolboy  that  I  could  only  just  recollect." 

"  I  don't  look  with  satisfaction  at  would-have-becning  anything 
of  the  sort,"  said  I.—"  Well,"  said  Janey,  "I  don't  subscribe  to 
the  idea  exactly,  but  I  was  struck  by  that  loophole  and  grasped 
at  it." 

"  And  then  you  to  sniff  at  thunderbolts  and  bushes !  I'm  glad 
we  haven't  got  to  translate  our  conversation  to  that  nice  pois- 
sonniere  up  there  that's  looking  at  us  in  such  a  motherly  way. 
Yow ! — Here's  another  wave !  " 

And  our  next  rush  brought  us  up  to  the  zone  of  dried  crab- 
shells  and  big  stones,  where  one  sits  down  cautiously  for  a  variety 


JOSEPH  VANCE  305 

of  reasons.    And  there  was  Marie  Favre  aforesaid,  and  in  a  very 
few  minutes  we  knew  the  names  of  all  her  family. 

And  I  lay  down  my  pen,  and  the  beach  and  the  blue  sea  have 
vanished.  I  am  back  again,  and  the  organ  has  played  through  all 
its  tunes  and  has  come  round  to  Carmen  once  more;  when  it 
appears  to  be  suddenly  struck  with  a  sense  of  tautology,  and  re- 
fusing a  da  capo  abruptly  decamps  into  the  night.  I  wish  it 
would  go  on,  for  even  Carmen  was  company.  I  would  have  given 
it  a  penny  if  it  had  been  within  range.  But  it  was  too  far  off, 
and  all  the  noises  have  gone.  No!  There  is  a  feeble  flageolet 
in  the  back  street,  which  comes  out  into  the  silence  now  there  is 
nothing  to  drown  it.  I  have  got  the  penny.  I  have  nerved  my- 
self to  part  with  it.  I  know  the  very  old  man  who  plays  that 
flageolet,  and  I  will  interrupt  'Life  let  us  cherish/  which  is  his 
tune,  to  give  him  that  penny,  and  I  will  take  a  little  walk  round 
to  make  myself  sleep  when  I  return,  and  perhaps  I  shall  see  a 
drunken  man  being  taken  to  the  station.  And  then  I  will  come 
back  and  think  more  over  the  old  time,  until  sleep  conies  and 
allows  me  to  go  back  into  the  past  and  live  it  through  again  with- 
out a  tear.  I  much  prefer  the  sleeping  dream  to  the  waking  one. 
Nothing  in  one's  head  splits,  and  one  can  speak  without  choking. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

AND,  AFTER  ALL,  LOSSIE^S  LETTER  PASSED  HER  IN  MID-OCEAN !  OF  HOW 
JOE  AND  JANEY  READ  HIS  FATHER'S  LETTER  AT  POPLAR  VILLA,  AND 
HOW  LOSSIE  CAME  UNEXPECTEDLY  ON  TWO  HAPPY  LOVERS  IN  THE 
TWILIGHT.  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  THE  ELDEST  MISS  FLOWERDEW ! 
DR.  THORPE  JOINS  THEM;  BUT  HOW  ABOUT  HIS  HEART?  HOW  JOB 
AND  JANEY  WERE  MARRIED.  BUT  NO  ONE  CAN  PLAY  JANEY^S 
PIANO  NOW. 

IT  is  very  fortunate  that  I  never  took  it  into  my  head  to  be  an 
Author.  What  a  nice  hash  I  should  have  made  of  it! 

For  see  what  I  have  done!  Here,  in  what  I  think  of  to  myself 
as  a  consecutive  narrative,  I  have  contrived  to  plunge  into  my 
honeymoon  before  I  was  married!  Had  I  really  put  my  pen  down 
before  it  led  me  into  this  excursion  (just  at  the  time  they  closed 
the  "  George  "  public)  I  should  have  gone  on  reasonably  and  told 
the  things  that  came  about  before  my  marriage  in  the  summer. 
They  belong  to  an  intensely  happy  passage  in  my  life — although  I 
absolutely  despair  of  explaining  (to  any  one  but  myself)  the  way 
in  which  one  of  them  contributed  to  that  happiness.  I  am  speak- 
ing of  Lossie's  return  to  England. 

I  fancy  I  have  indicated  that  this  was  expected,  but  very  likely 
not.  We  were  all  expecting  her  some  time  or  other,  but  I  re- 
member distinctly  that  no  time  was  settled,  when  the  rapproche- 
ment took  place  between  Janey  and  myself,  as  narrated  in  the  last 
chapter.  Nevertheless,  my  letters  had  kept  Lossie  au  fait  of 
everything,  and  the  long  letter  I  wrote  to  her  a  day  or  two  after 
my  reconciliation  interview  with  Janey  would  have  brought  her 
information  up  to  date,  had  it  reached  her.  It  was  an  interesting 
letter,  giving  every  detail,  and  had  in  addition  a  sort  of  commen- 
tary, written  in  red  ink  by  Janey;  a  rubric — part  information, 
part  contradiction  of  my  narrative.  I  can  recollect  buying  a 
little  bottle  of  red  ink,  at  Janey's  request,  and  how  the  sealing- 
wax  chipped  off  the  cork  and  went  on  the  carpet,  and  had  to  be 
swept  up.  This  shows  (me)  it  was  at  Hampstead  that  I  gave  her 
my  letter  to  read,  as  in  no  other  house  I  frequented  at  the  time 
was  the  standard  of  tidiness  so  high.  But  this  letter  passed  Los- 
sie at  some  unsuspected  point  in  the  Red  Sea  or  Persian  Gulf,  and! 

306 


JOSEPH  VANCE  307 

was  opened  and  read  by  the  General  at  about  the  time  of  the  little 
incident  which  will  inaugurate  a  new  quire  of  foolscap  (here  in 
Bloomsbury,  thirty  years  later),  if  I  am  detained  in  this  world 
long  enough  to  complete  and  despatch  an  article  on  cantilever 
bridge-building,  which  I  have  promised  the  printer  early  to-mor- 
row morning. 

This  little  incident  was  a  trifle  perhaps  in  itself,  and  might  be 
given  in  a  dozen  words  thus:  Lossie  came  home  sooner  than  was 
expected,  and  took  Janey  and  me  by  surprise.  But  it  was  a  sort 
of  epoch-making  trifle,  and  stands  out  clear  in  my  memory  of 
tmforgotten  things. 

Lossie,  with  her  little  boy,  about  a  year  and  a  half  old  now, 
was  due  at  Marseilles  early  in  April.  But  there  came  bad  storms 
and  a  cold  snap,  and  a  delay  to  the  boat ;  not  quite  without  anxiety 
to  us  at  home.  A  welcome  telegram  dissipated  this,  but  ended 
"  shall  not  come  just  yet — too  cold."  For  the  rough  weather  and 
the  change  of  climate  had  been  trying,  and  the  letter  that  followed 
seemed  to  point  to  an  anchorage  in  the  Riviera  until  a  little  real 
warmth  came.  I  suppose  we  in  England  were  misled  by  our  huge 
fires  and  thick  greatcoats  in  a  murderous  east  wind,  or  else  Lossie 
was  made  too  confident  by  a  sudden  Mediterranean  sun,  for  she 
and  the  babies  and  an  ayah  and  a  French  maid  came  quite  a  week 
earlier  than  our  earliest  expectation,  having  through  some  postal 
delay  overtaken  their  own  premonitory  letter. 

Janey  and  I  were  at  Poplar  Villa.  We  were  consoling  the 
Doctor  on  alternate  days  with  Nolly.  He  had  been  very  anxious 
about  Lossie  all  by  herself  on  the  journey,  although  he  had  been 
making  believe  that  he  was  quite  at  ease.  So  Nolly  and  I  ar- 
ranged that  he  should  never  be  left  alone  in  the  evening,  or  as 
little  as  possible.  I  frequently  borrowed  Janey,  greatly  to  the 
Doctor's  satisfaction;  as  he  was  as  good  as  in  love  with  her,  to 
use  his  own  phrase.  Nolly  would  gladly  have  negotiated  a  loan 
of  Miss  Maxey,  on  the  alternate  evenings;  but  this  was  in  the 
days  before  the  Earl  had  realized  Nolly's  parentage,  and  the  battle 
was  still  raging  over  the  adaptability  of  Solicitors  to  Earl's  Nests. 
And  Maisie  would  hardly  have  been  the  same  as  Janey  in  any 
case.  The  Doctor  liked  her  very  well  afterwards,  but  looked  on 
her  as  a  kissable  version  of  a  china  shepherdess. 

On  this  occasion  Janey  and  I  chartered  a  Hansom  all  the  way 
from  Hampstead.  The  wind  had  fallen  and  we  were  having  one 
of  those  early  spring  days  the  east  wind  sometimes  leaves  as  a 
compensating  legacy  to  the  Londoner — one  of  those  days  that  slip 
in  unnoticed  between  the  death  of  Eurus  and  the  birth  of  Zephyrus 


308  JOSEPH  VANCE 

or  Auster;  whichever  it  is  that  comes  to  wet  us  through  after  our 
shiverings ! 

"  If  this  goes  on,  Joe,"  said  Janey  to  me,  as  we  got  out  of  our 
cab — she  had  not  at  that  time  christened  me  Jacky — "  if  this  goes 
on  we  shall  have  all  the  trees  out  in  a  month." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  and  then  all  the  blossoms,  and  then  skating, 
and  everything  killed!" 

"  Peter  Grievous !  "  said  Janey,  laconically.  "  Here's  my  bag. 
Carry  it  in.  No — here's  Sam.  Put  it  up  in  my  room,  Sam, 
please !  Is  the  Doctor  back  ? " 

No — he  wasn't.  He  and  Professor  Absalom  had  gone  for  a 
walk.  We  never-minded,  and  went  into  the  Library,  having 
acquiesced  in  tea,  though  late — I  had  a  letter  I  wanted  to  show 
Janey,  and  I  had  been  saving  it  up  till  we  got  a  little  peace  and 
quiet.  We  got  both  in  the  Library,  away  from  the  noise  of  traffic, 
with  the  red  sunset  streaming  in  that  showed  that  whatever  it  was 
now,  it  meant  to  rain  to-morrow.  "  No,"  said  Janey,  "  I  shan't 
take  my  bonnet  off  till  I've  had  my  tea;  so  you'll  have  to  put  up 
with  it,  Master  Joseph.  Where's  the  letter? — No,  tea  first,  letter 
after — because  then  we  shall  really  get  a  little  peace  and  quiet ! " 
Anybody  would  have  thought  to  hear  the  way  we  cherished  the 
expression,  that  riding  through  a  well-policed  district  in  a  well- 
bred  Hansom  was  the  Battle  of  Prague,  or  the  Walpurgisnacht,  or 
a  Typhoon.  Even  the  tranquillity  of  tea  in  the  Library  alone 
didn't  come  up  to  our  ideal,  and  it  was  only  when  everything  had 
been  taken  away  that  Janey  decided  the  letter  might  be  considered. 
But  we  would  not  have  the  lamp,  and  there  would  be  plenty  of 
light  near  the  window  for  ever  so  long  yet.  We  would  sit  on  the 
ottoman,  towards  the  light,  and  turn  the  letter  back,  like  that,  and 
should  do  capitally. 

The  letter  was  from  my  Father — but  in  his  wife's  handwriting, 
from  his  dictation.  It  was  written  from  a  farmhouse  in  Wor- 
cestershire to  which  he  and  Pheener  had  gone  for  their  honey- 
moon, or  part  of  it.  It  was  Pheener's  ancestral  home.  My  Father 
had  insisted  on  going  there,  and  being  properly  introduced  to  his 
wife's  family.  I  think  he  was  haunted  with  an  idea  that  if  he 
did  not  they  would  come  up  to  town  looking  like  illustrations  to 
Thomson's  Seasons  or  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  and  would  be  sure  to 
abase  themselves  and  treat  him  respectfully.  This  was  more  than 
he  could  bear.  "It's  bad  enough,"  he  said  to  me,  once,  "to  be 
touched  people's  hats  to  when  they're  expectin'  an  early  settle- 
ment. But  when  it  comes  to  bein'  a  Squire — !  I  don't  care  a 
dam  twopence  about  the  whole  turn-out,  Beadles,  stocks  and  all, 


JOSEPH  VANCE  309 

myself.  So  what  I  say  is,  make  it  easy  accordin'."  His  experi- 
ences had  been  almost  exclusively  London  and  Suburban,  and  his 
ideas  of  rural  life  might  perhaps  have  been  traced  to  playhouses 
in  his  early  youth.  I  fancy  I  derived  from  him  an  idea  of  my 
own  boyhood — that  all  countryfolk  were  either  Good  or  Villains. 
This  hard  and  fast  classification  must  have  come  from  some 
penny-gaff  melodrama.  I  have  not  got  the  letter  now — but  I  can 
remember  enough  of  it  to  show  that  my  Father's  early  faith  in 
bucolic  virtue  had  received  a  shock. 

It  began  with  an  assurance  that  "my  dissolute  parent "  con- 
tinued sober,  and  went  on  to  say  that  "the  deserving  young 
woman  who  had  undertaken  to  'act  as  a  Man  You  Ensis  to  the 
above '  was  acquitting  herself  well  in  the  situation  to  which  it  had 
pleased  God  to  call  her." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  "  said  Janey.  "  Amanuensis,  of  course !  I  couldn't 
make  out  what  he  meant.  I  suppose  he  said  it  a  syllable  at  a  time, 
and  she  wrote  it  down." 

"  That  was  it.  He  knows  the  word  from  Hickman.  He's 
rather  fond  of  long  words  now  and  then — regards  them  as 
'andy  when  parties  are  inquisitive.  He  relies  "on  words  he 
doesn't  know  the  meaning  of,  as  a  means  of  withholding  infor- 
mation." 

"  I  see — but  it's  risky.  Let's  have  more  of  the  letter.  What- 
ever does  he  mean  by  what  comes  next  ?  '  I  am  particularly 
well  pleased,  myself,  and  Mrs.  V.  she  shares  our  sentiments, 
as  in  duty  bound.'  What  does  he  mean  by  our?  Is  it  like 
Koyalty?" 

"  Let's  have  a  look — stop  a  bit !  I  see  now — but  I'm  glad  Violet 
isn't  here." 

Janey  examined  the  text  again,  and  broke  into  a  laugh;  she  saw 
too !  "  He  really  is  too  ridiculous  for  anything,"  she  said.  And 
we  went  on  deciphering  the  letter  in  the  growing  darkness.  It 
dwelt  on  the  self-denying  character  of  Pheener's  guardianship  of 
the  whiskey-bottle,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  consistency  dictated 
total  abstinence.  "  Not  a  nip  for  her  poor  self ! "  said  the  letter. 
"  Otherwise  contrairiness,"  meaning  thereby  that  nips  and  super- 
vision would  be  inconsistent.  It  then  described  the  depraved  con- 
dition of  the  rural  population.  "  As  this  leaves  me  at  present  the 
population  is  drunk."  The  Parson  and  the  Doctor  seemed  sober, 
but  this  he  ascribed  to  successful  dissimulation,  the  result  of  better 
training.  Owing  chiefly  to  the  Parson  the  morality  of  the  villagers, 
was  low.  "  The  offsprings  are  fat  but  illegitimate,  having  white 
hair  and  blue  eyes — and  as  red  as  lobsters."  At  this  point  Janey 


310  JOSEPH  VANCE 

said  I  wasn't  to  put  my  eyes  out  any  longer — I  suggested  ringing 
for  the  lamp.  But  sitting  in  the  half-dark,  looking  out  at  a  new 
moon  and  an  evening  star,  was  too  nice  to  spoil,  so  we  put  the 
letter  away  and  enjoyed  the  peace  and  quiet.  If  we  hadn't  got 
both  now  we  were  hard  to  satisfy.  However,  there  is  a  ser- 
pent in  every  Eden,  and  in  this  one  it  was  my  ridiculous  con- 
sciousness. 

"  What  nonsense,  you  silly  old  Joe,"  said  Janey.  "  If  any  one 
does  come  into  the  room,  what  does  it  matter?  It  isn't  as  if 
people  were  born  yesterday!  I  was  just  enjoying  the  light  so,  and 
you  spoiled  it  all  by  jumping  up.  It  isn't  anybody !  " 

Wasn't  it?  Well,  at  any  rate,  I  wasn't  responsible  now,  if  any- 
body did  come  in.  So  I  readjusted  the  status-quo  and  went  on 
helping  to  enjoy  the  light.  It  faded,  as  its  way  is,  and  then  we 
enjoyed  the  twilight. 

I  don't  precisely  know  how  it  happened.  There  may  have  been 
some  trace  of  obstinacy  on  my  part;  aware  of  a  newcomer  in  the 
room,  but  reluctant  to  be  convicted  again  of  ridiculous  conscious- 
ness; and  hence  the  development  of  events.  Of  this  I  am  certain, 
that  neither  Janey  nor  I  stirred  a  finger  or  spoke  a  word  until  we 
were  startled  by  a  hand  that  came  round  the  neck  of  each  of  us 
and  a  voice  that  said,  "  Oh,  do  say  it's  Grizzle ! "  And  it  was 
Lossie. 

It  was  actually  Lossie  herself!  If  she  wasn't  absolutely  and 
precisely  the  same  Lossie  that  went  away  through  the  door  she 
had  just  come  in  at,  four  years  ago,  she  was  near  enough — nearer 
far  than  I  had  ever  hoped.  For  I  had  conjured  up  many  images 
of  altered  Lossies.  There  were  two  in  particular  I  rather 
shuddered  to  anticipate;  a  fat  overpowering  Lossie  with  a  redun- 
dant dictatorial  manner,  and  a  flavour  of  Commanders-in-chief 
and  Durbars,  and  a  dried  Lossie,  a  slice  of  human  toast  as  it 
were,  incapable  of  doing  anything  for  itself  and  peevish  with  the 
servants,  but  hung  all  over  with  very  large  diamonds  which  had 
belonged  to  Moguls.  In  those  days  some  of  us  still  formed  our 
ideas  of  India  from  the  "  Surgeon's  Daughter "  and  Macaulay's 
"  Lord  Clive  and  Warren  Hastings,"  helped  a  little  by  Thackeray, 
and  in  my  case  a  dash  of  a  Lascar  who  swept  a  crossing  somewhere 
near  Golden  Square. 

But  this  newcomer  who  broke  into  our  peace  and  quiet  was  no 
distempered  imagination  of  mine,  but  a  Lossie  so  like  herself, 
at  any  rate  in  a  half-dark  room,  that  the  four  years  seemed  to  have 
vanished.  She  brought  with  her  problems  that  would  hardly  wait 
till  after  an  extravagant  outburst  of  welcome  for  solution.  An 


JOSEPH  VANCE  311 

exact  verbal  record  of  what  followed  may  explain  itself.  Let 
it  try. 

"  Well,  but  then  it  really  is  Grizzle,  after  all!  You  foolish  boy, 
why  couldn't  you  say  so  ? " 

"  But — how  did  you  get  upstairs  ?  "  This  was  Janey,  but  she 
had  to  wait.  "  Of  course  it  is,"  I  said.  "  But  who  ever  said  it 
wasn't  ? " 

"Nobody  said  it  wasn't,  Joe  dear.  But  you  never  said  who  it 
was.  Wait  till  you  see  your  own  letter !  " 

"  But  how  did  you  get  upstairs  ? "  said  Janey,  returning  to  the 
charge. 

"Anyhow,  it  is  you,  Grizzle  dear — and  I  am  so  delighted  I 
can't  tell  you.  But  when  did  it  come  all  right?  I  am  in 
such  a  bewilderment — I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  it.  Your 
letter,  dear  old  Joe! — all  about  her,  and  she,  and  how  was  I  to 
tell?" 

"  But  we  never  heard  any  cab,"  said  Janey  again.  But  Lossie 
was  much  too  keen  after  her  own  mystification  to  attend  to- 
Janey's.  And  Janey  knew  she  was  herself,  so  that  no  ex- 
planation seemed  necessary.  A  fait-accompli  has  leisure  to 
wait  for  an  official  raison-d'etre.  But  the  cab,  or  its  absence, 
called  aloud  for  elucidation,  and  I  thought  it  shorter  to  take 
Janey's  part.  Whereon  Lossie  made  concession — but  in  a  par- 
enthesis : — 

"  (Because  we  had  a  stupid  cabman,  and  his  wheel  came  off — 
at  least  it  would  have,  only  a  policeman  told  him.  It's  all  right! 
Anne  and  Sam  have  gone  out  to  see  to  it.  We  were  all  but  here.) 
You  know,  dear  Joe,  for  anything  there  was  in  your  letter,  it 
might  have  been  the  eldest  Miss  Flowerdew."  This  speech 
contained  (to  me,  who  knew  the  ground)  an  aspersion  on  this 
young  lady — a  hint  that  she  was  a  monument  of  uncoveted 
singleness.  I  waived  the  eldest  Miss  Flowerdew,  and  kept  to  the 
point. 

"But  Janey  wrote  a  red-ink  letter  all  over  mine,  Loss.  And 
signed  her  name  to  it.  Yours  very  affectionately,  Jane  Spencer. 
Didn't  you,  Janey  dear  ? " 

"Of  course,  Joe!  And  there  was  no  room.  And  you  said  it 
didn't  matter  if  I  couldn't  get  the  r  in,  because  Lossie  Desprez 
would  be  sharp  enough  to  guess." 

"  Red  ink ! "  exclaimed  Lossie.  But  sounds  without  arrested 
explanation:  one  sound  of  a  small,  very  voluble  boy,  talking  to  a 
Hindoo  ayah  in  her  own  language;  another  of  an  indignant  and 
injured  baby,  who,  however,  accepted  a  composition;  others  of 


312  JOSEPH  VANCE 

hirelings  who  were  being  exhorted  to  take  care  of  the  lamp  what- 
ever they  did,  and  to  be  very  careful  of  the  walls.  They  and  their 
hoarseness,  and  their  flavour,  were  shut  out,  and  the  others  let  in. 
But  the  babies  were  (unjustly,  it  seemed  to  me)  classified  as 
unfit  for  society  owing  to  fatigue.  The  little  boy  said  to  me, 
"  You're  not  grandpapa,"  which  seemed  to  me  reasonable.  I 
thought  it  a  good  remark,  but  Lossie  condemned  it  as  below  par, 
saying  I  had  no  idea  how  shrewd  and  apposite  her  son's  remarks 
were  when  he  wasn't  half  asleep.  Both  he  and  Baby  were 
too  sleepy  to  be  countenanced,  and  their  removal  was  just  giv- 
ing an  opening  for  renewed  elucidations,  when  Lossie  started 
up,  crying  out  that  there  was  darling  Papa — she  knew  his 
step — and  ran  downstairs  to  meet  him.  I  did  not  immediately 
follow. 

I  don't  know  what  other  people's  experience  is,  but  I  myself 
have  never  known  a  home-coming  that  was  not  spoiled — or  the 
edge  taken  off  it — by  the  reluctance  of  cabmen,  or  intruders  whom 
they  aid  and  abet,  to  accept  any  sum  of  money  whatever  for  their 
services,  and  to  go  away  without  a  grievance.  I  am  sure  the 
daughters  of  the  horse-leech  (though  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  them 
being  required  to  go  more  than  four  miles  an  hour  or  lending  a 
'and  up  with  anything  too  heavy  for  you)  would  not  have  been  so 
exacting  as  this  class  of  persons.  Anyhow,  poor  Lossie's  long- 
looked-forward-to  hug  of  her  father  was  not  enjoyed  as  thor- 
oughly as  it  might  have  been.  She  ran  out  into  the  front  garden 
to  meet  him,  and  as  a  background  was  aware  of  two  injured,  but 
of  course  civil  and  sober,  instances  of  neglect  of  washing,  who 
were  begging  pardon,  but  it  was  rather  hard.  They  were  surprised 
and  hurt  that  a  world  they  had  hitherto  had  confidence  in  should 
offer  them  eightpence  for  carryin'  all  them  boxes  from  over  agin' 
the  Robin  'Ood  Tavern  and  then  upstairs.  The  job  was  worth 
'arf-a-crown.  And  the  sum  in  their  outstretched  hands,  remind- 
ing one  of  pictures  of  St.  Francis,  was  eighteenpence  I  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  largesse — and  then  Lossie  and  the  Doctor  got 
away  and  escaped  into  the  house. 

"Botheration  take  the  Men,"  said  Lossie.  "Why  didn't  Anne 
give  them  heaps  of  money  and  get  them  out  of  the  way  ?  " 

"  They  would  only  have  asked  for  more,  dear,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  It's  their  nature  to. — No,  dear  I  I'm  all  right !  "  Because  he  had 
turned  pale,  and  drawn  in  his  breath  sharply;  and  if  he  had  not 
answered  the  question  before  it  became  words,  Lossie  would  have 
asked  what  the  matter  was.  How  very  odd  that  I  remember  this 
now,  and  it  was  forgotten  in  a  moment  at  the  time  1  "  I've  had  a 


JOSEPH  VANCE  313 

long  walk  with  the  Professor,"  said  he,  "  and  I  didn't  expect  you, 
don't  you  see  ? " 

Then  we  went  in  steadily  for  a  good  explanation.  "  I  never 
got  any  red  ink,  Joe,"  said  Lossie,  sitting  on  her  father's  knee  like 
a  little  girl,  and  caressing  his  head.  "  Only  a  stupid  little  letter  to 
Marseilles,  saying  I  should  see  her  so  soon  myself  you  wouldn't 
write  anything  more.  How  was  I  to  know  who  her  was  ?  It  might 
have  been  altogether  a  new  her.  But  it  isn't,  and  I'm  so  glad ! " 
And  Lossie  came  off  her  father's  knee  expressly  to  kiss  Janey  again, 
and  then  went  back. 

It  was  all  clear  enough  now.  Lossie  had  never  had  a  hint  of 
the  renewed  treaty — as  we  should  have  seen  she  couldn't  had  we 
thought  it  out.  But  one  gets  very  foolish  over  letter-dates.  She 
had  seen  from  my  Marseilles  letter  that  there  was  a  her  of  im- 
portance who  had  slipped  into  my  life;  and  had  come  on,  perhaps 
all  the  quicker.  All  had  gone  well  till  about  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  gate,  when  the  cab-wheel  incident  occurred.  Impatience 
was  too  strong  to  be  endured,  and  Lossie  forsook  the  cab  and  her 
offspring  to  run  on  to  the  house  and  get  assistance.  Rapid  ex- 
planations despatched  Anne  and  Sam  to  the  rescue  of  the  cab, 
and  Lossie  was  left  confronted  with  a  new  girl — one  born  yester- 
day, as  it  were!  The  new  girl  could  testify  that  Dr.  Thorpe  had 
gone  for  a  walk  with  a  Professor,  that  Mr.  Joseph  Thorpe  was  in 
Somersetshire,  but  that  the  other  Mr.  Joseph  was  in  the  Library 
with  his  cousin.  This  last  needless  complication  was  only  owing 
to  the  new  girl's  intense  delicacy,  and  desire  not  to  create  gossip! 
She  was  a  very  nice  new  girl,  I'm  sure  almost  too  nice  for  this 
rough  and  wicked  world !  But  no !  She  didn't  know  the  cousin's 
name. 

"  So  then,  Master  Joe,"  said  Lossie,  "  I  only  waited  long  enough 
to  find  that  there  was  a  letter  from  Hugh — here  it  is  with  all  right 
written  outside — and  then  I  came  up  as  quietly  as  I  could  and 
sneaked  into  the  room.  And  I  couldn't  see  who  it  was  till  I  looked 
round  Grizzle's  bonnet.  And  I  was  so  glad !  " 

"  I  should  have  heard  you  coming,  dear  Mrs.  Despr — well, 
Lossie  then!  Only  for  my  bonnet."  And  Janey  removes  that 
obstruction  and  stands,  half -leaning  on  the  table,  swinging  it  by 
the  ribbons.  And  the  new  girl  brings  the  lights. 

And  as  I  sit  here,  thirty  years  later,  I  can  see  them  still — I 
have  only  to  close  my  eyes  on  my  new  quire  of  foolscap,  and  there 
is  the  Doctor  in  his  writing-chair  of  old  days,  beaming  with  happi- 
ness and  all  the  colour  back  in  his  cheeks  again — of  course  it  was 


314  JOSEPH  VANCE 

only  the  excitement,  or  at  that  time  we  thought  so.  And  there  is 
Lossie,  incredibly  like  herself,  running  her  fingers  through  his 
hair,  and  patting  and  petting  his  cheeks.  And  there  is  Janey,  who 
cannot  take  her  eyes  off  Lossie,  whom  every  new  passage  of  my  old 
story  has  made  more  and  more  a  wonder  to  her.  And  there  am  I, 
quite  a  third  person  to  my  now  self,  a  young  man  who  gets  happier 
and  happier  at  every  visible  interchange,  every  cross-current  of 
word  or  feeling,  that  passes  between  the  two  women  whom  he  does 
not  speak  of  to  himself  as  his  old  love  and  his  new — but  that  is  the 
right  language  for  the  passer-by,  nevertheless.  Remember  that  it 
is  my  own  life  I  am  writing,  and  that  I  cannot  analyze  myself  as 
other  than  I  was.  I  daresay  it  was  all  wrong.  But  if  Lossie,  who 
is  still  living  (as  I  have  said  before),  could  come  to  me  now,  my 
first  word  to  her  would  be  about  Janey. 

We  were  married  about  eight  weeks  after  Lossie's  return  and 
went  away  to  Normandy.  I  am  not  so  clear  about  any  part  of 
that  eight  weeks  as  I  am  about  the  foregoing.  Salient  important 
facts  are:  that  Lossie  was  just  in  time  to  help  Janey  with  her 
things;  that  vain  attempts  were  made  by  legal  minds  to  engineer 
a  marriage  settlement  so  as  to  procure  a  broil;  that  Violet,  though 
she  did  not  refuse  to  come  to  our  wedding  at  the  church  in  Essex 
Street,  High  Holborn — (Janey  was  a  Unitarian  if  she  was  any- 
thing, and  what  I  was  Heaven  only  knows!),  nevertheless  made  a 
merit  of  doing  so,  and  I  know  attended  a  service  at  Margaret 
Street,  Regent  Street,  in  the  afternoon  to  get  assoilzied,  as  it  were. 
Also  that  she  was  very  anxious  to  give  us  a  wedding  present  that 
would  be  realty  useful,  which  was  not  intended  as  an  insinuation 
that  Janey  was  unsuited  for  decoration,  but  was  akin  to  it,  and 
showed  that  her  mind  was  classifying  us  involuntarily.  We  were 
people  of  our  sort — she  was  a  person  of  hers.  It  was  so  true  too, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it !  A  good  many  of  our  friends  were 
needlessly  desirous  of  giving  us  really  serviceable  things,  and 
avoiding  gewgaws  and  fal-lals,  but  I  fancy  a  change  of  motive 
came  into  that  movement  of  our  Wedding  March  when  Janey's 
Streatham  aunt  wanted  to  give  something  really  useful,  and  spend 
say  twenty  pounds;  and  Janey  begged  for  twenty  silk  umbrellas, 
which  would  last  her  lifetime,  and  keep  for  ever  in  those  nice 
shiny  oilskins.  Our  great  present  was  Janey's  father's  splendid 
Broadwood  grand.  "  And  there  1 "  said  she,  "  I  can  only  play 
tunes  on  it." 

No  one  can  play  tunes  on  it  now ;  nor  could  it  be  put  in  order 
again  after  all  these  years  in  a  Pantechnicon — so  they  tell  me. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  315 

I  wonder  whether  that  is  true,  or  whether  it  is  only  that  if  old 
works  could  be  replaced  no  one  would  ever  want  new  cases.  I 
always  think  the  reverse  is  true  of  me;  and  that  if  I  could  get  a 
new  case,  the  old  works  would  do  as  they  stand. 

When  I  went  to  choose  out  a  few  oddments  from  that  Pantech- 
nicon on  my  return  from  Brazil,  I  found  the  same  guardian  in 
charge  that  had  received  them  twenty  years  ago.  He  was  just 
married  when  I  went — so  he  had  told  me.  This  time,  he  had  been 
married  again,  fifteen  years.  He  was  looking  forward  to  the 
wedding  of  the  first  wife's  son,  a  good-looking  young  man;  on  the 
top  of  whom,  when  his  father  pointed  him  out  to  me,  was  an 
escritoire  weighing  two  or  three  hundredweight,  which  he  seemed 
to  make  light  of.  "  That  boy's  a  good  boy,"  said  his  father,  "  but 
you  might  say  he  killed  his  mother,  in  startin'  himself."  And  all 
that  boy's  life  I  had  been  in  Brazil.  Was  it  really  as  long  as  that ! 
iThen  his  father  added,  "  That  was  his  mother  you  knew " — • 
although  of  course  I  didn't,  and  he  knew  I  didn't;  but  there  was  a 
little  link  with  the  past,  and  he  claimed  it.  I  was  not  unfeeling 
enough  to  contradict  him.  I  chose  out  some  small  article  from 
among  my  leavings  and,  crossing  it  off  the  list,  asked  his  father  to 
give  it  to  him  as  a  wedding  present.  I  thought  Janey  would  like 
me  to. 

But  how  come  I  to  have  wandered  away  to  the  Pantechnicon? 
J  remember.  It  was  the  Broadwood.  Well! — that  Piano,  and  all 
the  things  they  gave  us,  and  all  the  things  we  bought,  went  as  ap- 
pointed to  our  house  that  was  to  be,  in  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea.  But 
I  am  using  the  word  "  things  "  in  the  Dictionary  sense,  not  in  its 
more  reserved  and  exalted  one.  In  that  sense,  Janey's  "things" 
that  Lossie  helped  her  to  buy,  mostly  travelled  out  to  Normandy 
with  us,  and  were  a  great  satisfaction  to  the  Douane,  so  heavily 
was  it  tipped  to  avoid  turning  them  all  out,  and  rumpling  them, 
and  creasing  them,  and  suspecting  them  to  be  lined  with  tobacco. 
"I  know  they'll  spoil  that  fichu  we  were  so  long  choosing,"  said 
Janey.  And  I  can't  expect  you  to  understand  why  "  we  "  gave  me 
so  much  pleasure. 

But  it  did!  As  I  think  now  of  that  two  months  before  my 
wedding,  and  how  Lossie  threw  herself  into  all  our  arrangements, 
and  how  Janey  encouraged  her  to  do  so,  it  presents  itself  to  me  as 
one  of  the  happiest  times  of  my  life.  If  I  put  my  writing  aside 
now  and  smoke  a  pipe  before  I  go  to  bed  I  shall  think  of  nothing 
else.  It  has  quite  cancelled  the  cantilevers,  which  are  in  the 
printer's  hands  by  this  time. 

Yes!  that  was  thirty  years  ago.    And  what  a  narrow  escape  I 


316  JOSEPH  VANCE 

had  had  of  having  all  my  affection  for  Lossie  turned  to  gall  and 
wormwood.  It  might  have  been,  but  for  her  and  her  husband, 
and  the  way  they  could  understand  a  boy  just  out  of  his  teens. 
It  never  has  been,  for  all  that  has  come  to  pass  since,  and  never 
will  be  now,  in  the  short  spell  that  has  still  to  be.  But  I  wish 
what  has  come  to  pass  could  have  been  otherwise. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

OF  THE  NEW  FACTORY  IN  CHELSEA.  OF  THE  BACKSLIDING  OF  OLD  MR. 
VANCE.  HOW  JOE  DREAMED  A  STRANGE  DREAM,  AND  ITS  INTERRUP- 
TION. OF  THE  GREAT  FIRE,  AND  HOW  MR.  VANCE  WAS  RESCUED. 
BUT  SPRAINED.  SO  FAR  AS  CAN  BE  ASCERTAINED,  FULLY  COVERED  BY 
INSURANCE.  AN  OLD  BURNED  BOARD,  WITH  WRITING  ON  IT. 

ON  our  return  we  settled  at  our  house  in  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea. 
We  were  very  near  the  Macal listers,  who  were  facing  the  river  in 
an  old  house  close  to  the  old  bridge  beyond  the  Church.  Bony  and 
I  could  walk  over  in  half  an  hour  to  my  Father's  house  at  Clap- 
ham,  behind  which  we  were  still  carrying  on  the  engineering 
business,  although  very  much  cramped  for  space.  At  this  date 
the  useful  word  ructions  had  not  appeared  in  the  language,  so  I 
presume  the  complications  that  occurred  between  the  workmen  of 
the  two  separate  concerns  were  spoken  of  as  dissensions  or  col- 
lisions, or  rows  or  shindies,  when  they  were  discussed  by  the  office 
or  the  workshop  respectively.  My  Father  never  described  dif- 
ficulties of  this  sort  in  detail;  but,  with  a  true  instinct,  based  on 
long  experience  and  keen  personal  sympathy,  went  straight  to  the 
vera  causa.  "  Smith  and  Gilfillan,"  he  would  say,  for  instance, 
"had  both  on  'em  'ad  a  drop,  and  was  unaccommodating"  or 
"  Phipps  he's  a  peppery  card,  and  when  the  worse  it's  trying  to  the 
temper."  But  he  avoided  secondary  or  apparent  causes,  as  in  the 
first  of  these  cases,  in  which  the  respective  carmen  in  charge  of 
the  carts  of  Vance  pere  and  Vance  fils,  had  contrived  to  get  their 
vehicles  locked  in  the  yard  entry  because  neither  would  wait  until 
the  other  was  clear,  and  both  had  been  guilty  of  bad  packing. 
"We  'ad  the  best  of  it,"  said  my  Father.  "My  man  he  walked 
into  yours  to  the  toon  of  forty  pound  odd;  and  yours,  he  only 
smashed  a  window  frame  or  two.  Fifteen  shillins ! "  Both  the 
window  frames  and  the  piece  of  shafting  that  smashed  it  were 
projecting  unduly;  but  then  the  shafting  formed  part  of  a  lathe 
warranted  to  make  everything  in  the  universe  to  within  a  two- 
thousandth  of  an  inch,  while  window  frames  went  by  the  dozen, 
and  you  put  'em  down  at  so  much. 

However,  this  incident  and  many  like  it  showed  the  necessity  of 

317 


318  JOSEPH  VANCE 

new  premises  for  one  or  both,  and  as  my  Father  clung  to  the  old 
place  from  association,  it  was  decided  that  a  new  Engineering 
Works,  superseding  all  previous  undertakings,  should  be  erected 
in  Chelsea  not  far  from  the  houses  of  the  heads  of  the  concern. 
"You  see,  Nipper  dear/'  said  he  to  me,  "I  can't  be  cut  adrift 
from  your  Mother."  And  so  closely  did  he  adhere  to  this  plan  of 
life,  that  when  I  asked  Pheener  (as  I  prefer  to  go  on  calling  her) 
when  she  was  going  to  finish  hanging  the  pictures  in  the  drawing- 
room  she  replied  that  she  had  spoken  to  Mr.  Vance,  and  thought 
he  would  prefer  that  they  should  remain  as  they  were.  "  Because 
of  Missis,  you  know,  Master  Joseph,"  added  she,  forgetful  of  a 
solemn  promise  to  drop  the  "Master."  I  let  it  stand  this  time! 
Also  I  left  unmolested  against  the  wall  the  two  "Proofs  before 
Letters." 

However,  it  was  not  until  the  third  year  of  my  marriage  that  the 
new  Factory  became  a  reality.  This  was  the  time  of  the  zenith  of 
my  Father's  prosperity.  Had  it  not  been  for  this,  very  likely 
the  works  in  Chelsea  would  not  have  been  on  so  grand  a  scale. 
But  when  your  builder  accepts  all  your  directions,  and  carries 
them  out  free  of  charge,  you  are  apt  to  run  into  extravagance, 
even  if  he  is  not  constantly  urging  you  on  not  to  be  stingy  in* 
yourself  down  for  the  sake  of  a  shillin'  or  so. 

•  It  is  because  this  is  only  a  domestic  history,  of  indefinite  pur- 
pose, that  I  do  not  enter  at  length  into  the  details  of  the  engineer- 
ing business.  The  Spherical  Engine  came  into  my  domestic  record 
naturally;  so  did  the  Macallister  Eepeater.  But  the  various  de- 
vices of  sawing,  shaping,  and  planing  machines  for  which  we  were 
known  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  Therefore  I  omit  a 
technical  history  whose  purpose  would  be  even  more  indefinite,  and 
for  doing  so  I  claim  (should  you  ever  happen  to  exist)  your 
gratitude. 

The  delay  in  the  completion  of  the  Chelsea  Works  was  respon- 
sible for  my  being  still  in  harness  at  Clapham  at  the  date  of  the 
occurrence  I  have  now  to  describe,  and  for  all  the  incidents  that 
my  being  on  the  spot  involved.  I  will  give  the  narrative  as  it 
comes  to  my  recollection. 

I  had  been  feeling  uneasiness  about  my  Father  on  the  old 
Whiskey  question.  During  the  first  six  months  of  his  married  life 
his  wife  had  been  most  exemplary,  carrying  away  the  bottle,  after 
an  allowance,  with  Spartan  fortitude.  I  date  a  certain  relaxation 
of  discipline  from  my  own  wedding-breakfast,  when  it  was  im- 
possible to  cast  a  damper  on  my  dear  old  Daddy's  innocent  en- 
joyment of  my  happiness  by  reminding  him  of  his  own  short- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  319 

comings  in  the  past.  How  would  you  have  had  me  set  about  it? 
We  did  all  we  could  in  the  way  of  hypnotic  suggestion  and  jocular 
interdict ;  but,  as  you  may  imagine,  the  "  only  this  once  "  conces- 
sion was  too  popular  for  resistance,  and  its  justice  was  so  obvious 
to  the  concessionaire  that  he  took  advantage  of  it  after  the 
feeblest  protest.  He  failed  altogether  to  carry  out  a  promise  to 
pretend  he  was  sober,  and  to  make  a  short  story  shorter  still,  he 
got  drunk. 

This  unfortunate  incident,  which  could  only  have  been  pre- 
vented (as  I  think)  by  keeping  him  away  from  my  wedding,  made 
a  break  in  the  continuity  of  his  wife's  wholesome  discipline.  It 
discouraged  her,  and  made  an  unfortunate  precedent.  For  was  it 
not  clear  as  daylight  that  next  day  the  delinquent  was  as  right  as 
a  trivet?  Well,  then — the  day  after,  at  any  rate!  You  couldn't 
say  fairer  than  that.  You  couldn't  say  much  about  it,  if  you 
were  me,  as  in  this  case  you  were;  and  therefore  you  held  your 
tongue. 

When  we  returned  from  our  honeymoon,  with  a  honey  fortnight 
extra  to  make  it  up  to  six  weeks,  my  first  enquiry  of  my  step- 
mother was  how  had  he  been?  He  had  been  very  good  and 
manageable.  But  the  more  apprivoise  he  was,  the  greater  was  the 
tendency  to  reward  him  by  concessions.  "It  is  difficult,  Master 
Joseph,"  said  Pheener,  "to  say  he  shan't  have  only  half  a  glass 
more  when  he  says  he  won't  ask  for  it.  If  he  was  to  grab  for  the 
bottle  I  should  just  run  away  with  it  and  there  an  end."  I  could 
see  that  docility  was'  fatal. 

Another  difficulty  that  had  to  be  met  was  a  practice  of  anticipa- 
ting his  allowance  under  a  solemn  promise  to  forego  it  later. 
When  later  came,  it  found  bygones  quite  ready  to  be  bygones,  if 
only  you  wouldn't  bother.  And  it  was  always  only  that  once !  How 
intensely  once  everything  is,  if  you  only  look  at  it  at  the  time !  All 
the  subsequent  lapses  occurred  once  and  once  only;  but  then  each 
occurred  once,  and  exhausted  its  individual  powers  of  mischief. 

The  dipsomaniac,  in  spite  of  the  many  syllables  that  palliate 
him,  is  no  better  than  the  sot  in  his  forlorn  brevity.  The  former> 
obtains  access  to  stimulants  whenever  he  is  able  to  elude  the 
watchfulness  of  his  guardians;  the  latter  gets  nips  when  you  ain't 
lookin'.  The  former  endeavours  to  conceal  the  symptoms  of  in- 
toxication ;  the  latter  tries  to  'umbug  you  into  thinking  him  sober. 
The  former  suffers  agonies  of  remorse  after  each  relapse,  and 
follows  it  with  good  resolutions,  which  he  breaks.  The  latter  does 
it  again.  That  is  the  only  traceable  difference.  For  both  go  to 
the  bad. 


320  JOSEPH  VANCE 

My  Father  might  have  gone  to  the  bad,  had  he  lived  long  enough. 
For  when  I  look  back  on  his  relations  to  the  whiskey-bottle  I  am 
able  to  divide  their  history  into  three  distinct  chapters.  The  first 
begins  at  my  Mother's  death.  The  second  at  Lossie  Thorpe's, 
wedding.  The  third  at  my  own.  This  last  is  a  short  chapter,  but 
is  a  record  of  a  steady  degringolade.  The  fact  is  that  Pheener, 
left  alone,  was  not  strong  enough  for  the  position.  And  I  could 
see  at  once  when  I  came  back  from  my  visit  to  Normandy  that 
Pheener's  expression  "  good  and  manageable  "  was  a  tribute  to  my 
Father's  moral  nature,  rather  than  an  affirmation  of  her  success. 

It  was  not,  however,  fair  to  expect  Pheener  to  combat  her  hus- 
band's unhappy  propensity,  and  check  it  except  when  he  was  well 
within  range.  Had  he  been  always  under  her  eye,  I  believe  mat- 
ters might  have  gone  better.  But  unfortunately,  the  growth  of 
the  business  involved  constant  additions  of  premises,  and  one  of 
these,  a  City  Office  of  a  most  convincing  nature,  redolent  of 
polished  mahogany  compartments,  and  classification  and  solvency, 
demanded  my  Father's  almost  daily  presence.  I  don't  exactly 
know  what  he  did  there,  but  then  I  don't  exactly  know  what  any 
one  did.  For  even  Mr.  Hickman,  now  a  most  august  functionary^ 
and  understood  to  be  liable  to  break  out  into  a  partnership  at  any 
moment,  as  Vesuvius  into  an  eruption,  never  seemed  to  be  doing 
anything.  Some  work  must  have  been  done  some  time,  or  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  be  referred  by  folio  387  to  folio  2, 
and  by  folio  2  to  folio  763  P.  L.,  whatever  that  meant,  with  any 
result  but  discomfiture  and  despair.  Certainly  my  Father  didn't 
do  it.  It  would  have  been  contrary  to  his  great  principle  of  never 
doing  anything  with  his  own  hands.  But  it  appeared  to  be  neces- 
sary to  the  business  that  he  should  spend  half  the  day  in  the  very 
luxurious  inner  sanctum  he  had  provided  for  himself.  And  there 
was  nothing  in  the  world  to  hinder  the  secretion  of  whiskey  in 
any  of  the  responsible  safes  and  cupboards  that  made  such  a 
parade  of  candid  labels  describing  their  contents.  I  dwell  on  this 
point  for  the  exoneration  of  Pheener,  who  I  really  believe  did  her 
best  under  the  circumstances. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  a  six  weeks'  frost,  towards  the  end  of 
January.  Everybody  was  miserable,  except  the  skating  public, 
which  enjoyed  itself  all  the  more  on  that  account.  Its  attitude 
of  patronage  towards  the  frozen  and  choked  majority  was  insuf- 
ferable. I  record  this  on  the  authority  of  my  wife,  as  I  myself 
was  one  of  the  minority,  always  getting  a  good  morning's  skating 
before  lunch  and  departing  afterwards  to  attend  to  business  at 


JOSEPH  VANCE  321 

Clapham.  Luckily  trade  was  paralyzed  and  things  were  flat,  or  it 
would  have  been  the  worse  for  business. 

Vehicles  were  quite  out  of  the  question.  So  after  nearly  three 
hours'  skating  on  the  Serpentine,  a  walk  home  to  refresh,  and 
then  another  to  the  works,  I  was  beginning  to  acknowledge  fatigue. 
I  found  my  Father  just  going  back  after  a  late  lunch.  He  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  if  he  had  been  taking  an  abnormal  glass  of 
whiskey  the  weather  would  have  justified  it,  and  seized  the  op- 
portunity to  apologize  for  his  usual  excess.  "  The  fog  sticks  in 
the  toobs,"  he  said,  and  tapped  the  pit  of  his  stomach  to  explain 
their  locality.  We  walked  to  the  Works  together.  "  Nobody  could 
see  to  walk  straight,  in  such  a  fog,"  he  said.  He  did  not  try  to 
make  the  fog  responsible  for  anybody's  thick  articulation,  so  no 
doubt  he  was  unaware  of  his  own.  I  cannot  recall  that  I  observed 
anything  out  of 'the  common  in  his  condition;  but  I  fear  this  only 
shows  how  very  much  in  the  first  three  years  of  my  married  life  I 
had  to  come  to  accept  as  being  within  the  common. 

One  of  the  most  insidious  features  of  alcohol  poisoning  is  the 
way  it  imposes  on  bystanders,  who  go  into  a  conspiracy  to  assist 
each  other  in  self-deception  about  its  existence.  The  gate  porter 
Caplin  touched  his  hat  to  me,  and  looked  in  another  direction, 
lest  we  should  betray  a  mutual  consciousness  that  the  Governor 
was  drunk.  The  men  who  were  loading  up  planking  for  that  job 
of  Pettigrew's  (teste  Caplin)  changed  an  attitude  of  lazy  uncon- 
sciousness about  worldly  things  and  perfect  content  with  status- 
quo's  for  an  ostentatious  parade  of  ignorance  that  the  Governor 
was  drunk.  The  yard-foreman  Shaw's  manner  said,  almost 
audibly,  that  whoever  else  was  drunk,  the  Governor  wasn't.  But 
his  tongue  only  said  we  wanted  a  little  wind  to  blow  the  fog  away. 
The  yard  dog  Nelson  alone  had  the  candour  to  express  a  doubt,  for 
he  smelt  my  Father  suspiciously,  and  retired  dissatisfied.  He 
followed  his  tail  twice  round  to  get  its  opinion;  but  it  shirked 
giving  any;  so  Nelson  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  went  to  sleep.  Or 
rather  pretended  to,  for  I  saw  bis  eye  fixed  on  my  Father  when  he 
thought  no  one  was  looking. 

I  fell  in  with  the  general  imposture,  and  pretended  there  was 
not  the  slightest  reason  why  I  should  not  depart  to  my  own  portion 
of  the  Works.  So  I  left  my  poor  Daddy  giving  perfectly  intel- 
ligent instructions  about  points  awaiting  his  decision,  in  a  very 
thick  and  husky  tone  of  voice.  "  Do  I  ever  make  a  mistake, 
Nipper  ?  Come  now ! "  he  would  say  to  me,  when  I  endeavoured 
to  read  him  a  Whiskey-lecture — and  I  was  always  obliged  to  con- 
fess that  it  was  almost  never,  at  any  rate.  But  the  worst  part  of 


322  JOSEPH  VANCE 

this  excessive  clearness  of  mind  in  some  such  cases  is  its  produc- 
tion of  overweening  confidence  up  to  the  moment  of  some  tremen- 
dous betrayal,  when  its  victim  is  involved  in  a  catastrophe  that 
might  have  been  avoided  if  a  few  lesser  blunders  had  occurred  to 
give  warning.  My  Father's  mistake  was  a  cruel  instance,  for 
though  it  was  one  that  he  would  never  have  committed  when  per- 
fectly sober,  it  was  also  one  committed  every  day  by  persons  of 
less  judgment  than  his,  even  with  a  small  allowance  of  upset  from 
drink.  On  this  occasion  no  doubt  he  was  affected  rather  more 
than  usual. 

I  passed  up  into  my  floor  of  the  factory,  where  all  the  lathes 
were  busily  at  work,  though  it  was,  as  the  shop-foreman  said, 
mighty  hard  to  see  the  tip  of  your  own  nose.  The  gas  burned 
wretchedly,  as  it  always  does  in  thick  fogs.  Demand  does  not 
create  supply  at  an  hour's  notice,  unless  it  has  been  anticipated 
and  provided  for;  a  reservation  which  rather  takes  the  edge  off 
that  great  truth  of  Political  Economy,  and  leaves  the  demander 
making  use  of  strong  language  ineffectually.  In  the  present  case 
the  supply  was  even  worse  than  usual  in  a  bad  fog.  "It's  not 
often  as  bad  as  this,"  said  Willis,  the  shop-foreman.  "  It  might 
have  been  in  the  main,  only  I  see  nothing  wrong  with  the  street 
lamps."  Willis  was  astute  and  far-sighted,  and  a  great  consola- 
tion to  me.  I  told  him  to  go  down  to  the  meters,  and  take  the 
pressure  as  near  as  possible  to  ours.  For  I  saw  the  light  in  their 
building  was  better,  and  of  course  each  had  its  own  meter. 

Presently  Willis  came  back  in  haste.  "  There's  an  escape  some- 
where in  the  building,"  said  he.  "The  pressure's  a  lot  better  at 
the  meter." 

"  Smell  enough  to  knock  your  head  off  down  the  passage  over 
agen  the  wash'us  crossing  over  by  the  Stores."  The  speaker  was  a 
young  man  at  a  lathe,  who  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  his  work  or 
show  any  interest  in  his  own  speech,  which  he  appeared  to  have 
deputed  to  his  tongue  to  say,  and  washed  his  mind  of.  I  told 
Willis  to  go  down  and  see  about  it,  and  went  into  my  little  office. 
There  I  found  a  heap  of  letters  to  grapple  with — one  manifestly 
from  India  which  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  house.  I  put  it  in  my 
pocket  to  read  later,  and  gazed  blankly  at  the  stack  that  remained. 
I  was  very  tired,  and  I  knew  well  that  ten  minutes'  sleep  would 
reinstate  me  completely — it  always  did.  Yes!  I  would  have  my 
ten  minutes'  sleep  and  then  tackle  the  correspondence. 

No  sooner  had  I  sat  down  in  the  visitor's  chair  near  the  fire  than 
I  began  to  dream.  I  was  in  no  time  the  Mayor  or  Syndic  of  a 
glorious  old  town  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice;  and  on  the  edge  of 


JOSEPH  VANCE  323 

that  precipice  was  a  huge  projecting  rock  big  enough  to  accom- 
modate what  I  had  known  from  my  earliest  boyhood  as  the 
Schloss.  For  in  that  dream  I  recalled  endless  memories  of  early 
youth — as  in  dreams  one  does!  But  the  great  dread  and  terror 
of  all  the  inhabitants  (I  think  I  knew  most  of  them  by  name,  and 
had  done  so  for  years)  was  that  the  Rock  of  the  Schloss  was  slowly, 
slowly  detaching  itself  and  must  some  day  come  down,  Schloss 
and  all,  one  thundering  mass  of  destruction  and  ruin,  on  the  old 
beloved  streets  where  I  had  played  as  a  boy;  on  the  stately  town- 
hall,  with  its  tower  full  of  bells  whose  carillon  seemed  never  to 
cease  sounding;  on  the  twin  spires  of  a  cathedral  all  Europe  came 
to  see  and  wonder  at.  How  harrowed  was  I  (and  the  town-coun- 
cil) at  the  impending  inevitable  fate.  And  quite  suddenly  it  oc- 
curred to  me  (after  so  many  years  of  quiescence!)  that  engineer- 
ing might  have  a  voice  in  the  matter.  A  scheme  was  devised  (I 
can  recollect  scientific  details  even  now)  for  diverting  the  water 
that  was  wearing  channels  in  the  neck  of  the  rock,  for  buttressing 
from  below  and  so  forth;  and  it  was  all  arranged  and  we  made 
ready  to  start  when,  with  a  deafening  crash,  down  comes  the 
Schloss  bodily — and  no  doubt  converted  the  whole  place  to  a  heap 
of  ruins  I  did  not  sleep  long  enough  to  see,  for  I  only  heard  the 
first  half  of  the  dream-crash.  I  was  awake  in  time  to  catch  the 
last  half  of  a  tremendous  concussion  in  the  basement,  to  know  at 
once  the  meaning  of  the  rattle  of  broken  glass  that  followed,  the 
shouts  and  trampling  in  the  black  darkness  (for  not  a  light  was 
left  burning  in  our  part  of  the  building)  and  the  voice  of  Willis, 
the  foreman,  saying,  "  It's  the  gas !  " 

We  felt  our  way  through  the  darkness  till  the  still  burning  gas- 
lamps  in  the  other  works  enabled  us  to  run  for  the  scene  of  the 
explosion.  If  you  can  imagine  a  catastrophe  in  Hell,  and  an  army 
of  terrified  men  shouting  to  one  another  that  they  said  so  all  along, 
and  they  could  have  told  you  what  would  happen,  and  that  any- 
body might  have  known  it,  and  that  they  supposed  nobody  had 
gone  for  the  engines  now, — if  you  can  imagine  this,  and  yourself 
waked  suddenly,  from  a  dream,  you  will  know  what  I  felt  like 
within  a  minute  of  the  collapse  of  that  Schloss. 

I  heard  one  man  shout  to  another  through  the  fog,  where  was  the 
Guv'nor  ? — The  other  replied  that  Christopher  was  inside,  but  that 
Joseph  wasn't  there.  I  knew  that  the  men  among  themselves  dis- 
tinguished us  by  our  Christian  names,  but  it  was  unusual  to  me 
to  overhear  them.  Perhaps  this  was  why  I  did  not  realize  their 
meaning.  I  ran  on  through  the  yard  towards  the  Stores,  and  just 
as  I  arrived  the  flame  was  breaking  out  of  the  upper  windows. 


324  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Before  me  was  the  passage  over  agen  the  wash'us  where  the 
smell  had  been  enough  to  knock  your  head  off.  A  boy  who  was 
inexplicably  called  Mary  Anne  by  the  workmen  pulled  my  sleeve 
and  shouted  something  I  could  not  catch.  Caplin,  the  gate  por- 
ter, shouted  to  him,  "  You  shut  up,  young  Polly,  he  ain't."  But 
Polly  was  not  to  be  put  off,  and  shrieked  again  what  I  now  heard 
was  "  The  Guv'nor's  in  there,"  and  pointed  along  the  passage. 
And  at  this  moment  Shaw,  the  yard-foreman,  and  another  came 
running  out  of  the  entry  pursued  by  smoke,  having  ventured  in  in 
search  of  the  Governor. 

It  was  a  back-puff  of  smoke,  such  as  comes  from  a  first-lighted 
fire;  and  I  saw  the  fag  end  of  it  caught  back  by  the  returning 
draught.  I  dashed  in  at  once,  followed  by  others.  To  be  in  that 
long  passage  in  such  smoke  (the  denser  for  the  fog)  would  mean 
suffocation.  What  if  it  did?  My  Father  was  inside.  The  dog 
Nelson,  anxious  to  be  of  real  service,  bolted  in  and  went  ahead  of 
us,  nearly  tripping  me  up.  On  we  went  till  Caplin  called  out  to 
me  from  behind,  "  I  hear  the  Guv'nor,"  and  ran  down  a  side  pas- 
sage. I  and  the  others  followed.  There,  in  a  reflected  gleam 
from  above  somewhere,  was  the  Guv'nor,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say 
very  drunk.  It  had  developed,  perhaps  been  helped,  since  I  saw 
him. 

"  If  shome  of  you  young  men,"  said  he,  reproachfully,  "  inshtead 
of  makin'  all  that  hollerin'  outside,  was  to  come  in  here  and  try 
to  find  out  what'sh  afire,  you  might  make  shelf  shumyewsh." 

"  Catch  hold ! "  said  I.  And  four  of  us  seized  him  and  dragged 
him  with  unscrupulous  violence  into  the  outer  passage.  Here  he 
became  so  anxious  to  explain  to  us  that  something  was  on  fire,  that 
we  made  even  shorter  work  of  him,  laying  him  out  and  each  taking 
a  limb.  "  It's  me,  Daddy,"  I  thundered  in  his  ear.  And  I  think 
it  was  his  hazy  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  he  was  in  charge  of 
the  Nipper  that  made  removal  possible.  He  was  a  strong  man 
and  weighed  nineteen  stone,  and  action  had  to  be  very  prompt. 
As  it  was,  the  last  dozen  steps  of  our  exit  were  through  another 
puff  of  smoke  that  followed  us  along  the  passage  and  half  choked 
all  four  bearers,  whose  heads,  being  high,  got  the  worst  of  it.  He 
himself  was  no  more  inarticulate  than  before  when  we  all  fell  in  a 
heap  at  the  entrance. 

"I  shaid  shum'fn  wash  afire,"  said  he,  triumphantly,  and  then 
with  an  extraordinary  presence  of  mind  added,  "  See  to  getting 
the  horshesh  out." 

"  Jump  up,  Daddy,"  said  I,  for  he  still  remained  flat  on  his  back. 
"  There's  the  engines ! "  And  in  little  more  time  than  it  takes  to 


JOSEPH  VANCE  325 

tell,  the  whole  of  the  yards  were  teeming  with  brazen  helmets,  fire 
escapes,  coils  of  piping — everything,  in  fact,  except  the  one  thing 
needful,  water.  But  my  Father  still  lay  flat  on  his  back;  and  the 
developing  blaze,  now  constantly  working  through  at  unexpected 
points,  made  the  heat  insupportable.  "  Jump  up,  Dad,"  I  cried 
again,  and  tried  to  get  him  up.  But  he  could  not  move,  and  when 
I  tried  again,  he  gave  a  cry  of  pain.  So  terrible  was  the  heat  that 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  drag  him,  pain  or  no.  I  shouted 
this  into  the  ear  of  a  brazen  helmet,  whose  undisturbed  face 
showed  immediate  apprehension  and  nodded.  A  litter  appeared 
by  magic,  out  of  chaos,  and  two  more  undisturbed  helmets  some- 
how got  him  under  weigh  for  the  gate,  and  I  followed  with  the 
world  turning  round. 

I  had  had  a  rather  sharp  shake  myself  in  leaving  the  passage, 
and  I  was  so  confused  that  I  did  not  realize  at  first  that  he  was 
being  carried  into  a  neighbour's  house,  not  into  his  own.  The 
brass  helmet  which  accompanied  the  two  volunteer  bearers  ex- 
plained, "No  water,  all  froze.  What  wind  there  is  dead  on  the 
house.  Have  to  be  moved  again  in  an  hour,"  and  departed  with- 
out emotion.  From  which  I  gathered  that  we  might  look  forward 
to  the  complete  destruction  not  only  of  the  Works  but  of  the 
house,  and  probably  several  of  the  neighbours'  houses.  I  felt 
sorry  for  the  neighbours,  but  hoped  that  they  were  as  well  insured 
as  we  were! 

My  Father's  mind  was  struggling  with  his  overdose  of  whiskey. 
His  half -articulate  speech  (which  I  find  no  pleasure  in  trying  to 
spell  phonetically)  referred  chiefly  to  the  safety  of  the  horses; 
most  of  which,  as  a  concession  to  the  almost  impassable  state  of 
the  roads,  were  in  the  stable.  But  he  had  understood  quite  clearly 
what  the  fireman  had  said  about  the  danger  to  the  house,  and  was 
very  anxious  about  a  certain  packet  which  was  in  what  he  called 
his  shaving  drawer.  The  moment  he  had  with  some  difficulty  ex- 
plained this  and  given  me  his  keys,  I  left  him  in  charge  of  the 
terrified  strangers  to  whom  the  house  belonged,  and  struggled 
through  the  crowd  until  I  reached  the  cordon  of  police  that  was 
guarding  the  area  of  destruction  including  the  house.  I  had  some 
trouble  to  get  passed  through.  The  roar  of  the  conflagration,  for 
it  had  seized  the  timber-stacks  in  the  yard,  and  was  rejoicing  at 
the  capture  and  leaping  up  into  the  fog  overhead,  and  the  arrival 
of  fresh  engines,  and  the  shouts  of  the  mob  that  had  sprung  from 
nowhere  within  twenty  minutes,  all  combined  to  make  verbal 
communication  difficult.  I  got  through  by  showing  my  visiting 
card  to  a  Sergeant  of  Police,  and  got  into  the  house  just  as  the 


326  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Salvage  Corps  took  possession — a  tranquil-minded  body  of  men, 
steeped  I  should  say  in  philosophical  reflection,  and  quite  in- 
dependent of  externals.  I  ran  upstairs  to  the  dressing-room,  but 
found  the  door  locked.  A  Salvage  Corps  man  was  close  behind 
me.  "  Who  might  you  be  ?  "  said  he,  reflectively,  but  did  not  seem 
interested  in  the  answer.  "  Can  you  open  this  door?  "  said  I.  He 
remarked  that  he  might  try,  and  stepping  back  for  impetus  drove 
,  an  iron  boot-heel  like  a  battering-ram  true  on  to  the  keyhole. 
The  screws  of  the  lock  gave  way  with  a  crash,  and  I  followed  him 
into  the  room. 

"  There's  more  ways  than  one,"  said  he,  placidly,  "  of  getting  a 
door  open." 

Every  pane  of  glass  in  the  window  was  broken,  and  the  awful 
fog-lurid  glare  from  the  burning  timber-yard  less  than  fifty  yards 
away  showed  what  terrible  progress  the  fire  was  making.  I  went 
straight  to  my  Father's  dressing-table.  The  Salvage  man  de- 
murred to  my  interfering  with  anything,  saying  those  were  his 
instructions;  but  my  production  of  the  keys  and  my  card  was 
accepted  as  evidence  of  my  status,  and  I  soon  found  the  packet. 
Almost  before  I  had  done  this,  he  had  closed  the  shutters  to  keep 
out  the  spark-drift,  and  made  a  bundle  of  a  feather-bed  and  all  the 
valuable  tailor's  work  in  the  cupboards.  I  saw  why.  ~No  water 
was  expected  and  all  the  salvage  would  be  goods  carried  out.  I 
was  useless  evidently;  so  I  left  the  position  in  the  hands  of  ex- 
perience, and  fought  my  way  back  to  the  neighbour's  house  where 
I  had  left  my  Father. 

In  all  this  time  no  enquiry  had  crossed  my  mind  about  where 
my  stepmother  and  the  household  were.  But  "  all  this  time  "  had 
been  so  very  little,  counted  by  minutes.  It  takes  long  to  tell,  but, 
from  when  the  Schloss  came  down  in  the  dream,  on  that  ancient 
city  that  I  remembered  every  nook  of,  to  the  moment  of  my  re- 
turn with  the  rescued  packet  to  my  Father  at  the  Philip  Slacks' 
three  doors  off  opposite,  was  certainly  not  more  than  thirty-five 
minutes  all  told.  When  I  escaped  out  of  the  roar  and  confusion 
of  the  street  into  my  Father's  harbour  of  refuge  I  found  the  terri- 
fied womankind  beside  him,  having  been  persuaded  to  clear  out 
of  the  threatened  house  by  the  Police.  In  order,  however,  to 
facilitate  salvage  operations,  Pheener  had  carefully  locked  all  the 
lockable  doors  and  brought  the  keys  away.  My  Father  was  in- 
dignant. "  Whash  yewsh-lockin'  dam-locks  ? "  said  he  in  three 
words.  I  consoled  him  by  producing  the  packet  he  wanted.  He 
handed  it  to  his  wife  with  a  caution  that  come  what  might  she 
should  never  let  it  go  out  of  her  keeping.  But  he  never  raised 


JOSEPH  VANCE  327 

himself  up  off  the  sofa  he  had  been  laid  on,  and  I  could  see  plainly 
that  he  was  suffering  from  some  shake  or  strain,  encountered  when 
he  fell  as  we  brought  him  out  of  the  smoke. 

Those  who  have  never  been  in  a  fire  or  shipwreck  can  form  no 
idea  of  the  overwhelming  power  of  the  unfettered  elements,  and 
the  utter  helplessness  of  the  human  unit  against  them.  I  knew 
that  I  could  avert  nothing  that  it  was  still  possible  to  avert,  and 
could  save  nothing  that  it  was  still  possible  to  save,  one-half  as 
well  as  the  highly  trained  skill  that  had  now  the  task  in  hand.  So 
I  remained  by  my  Father.  He  was  getting  very  sleepy  and  stupid, 
and  when  in  the  course  of  another  hour  of  glare  and  roar  of  fire, 
and  shouting  of  human  throats,  and  trampling  of  men  and  horses, 
there  came  a  great  crash  followed  by  a  greater  roar  and  a  new 
blaze,  he  only  remarked  (quite  correctly)  that  the  roof  had  fallen 
in.  "  Schnomatter,"  he  added,  "  shoranee  covers  all  risks/'  and 
dropped  off  into  a  balmy  slumber. 

It  was  then  that  Shaw,  the  yard-foreman,  came  in  and  gave  me 
an  insight  into  what  had  happened.  His  loyalty  to  the  fiction  that 
my  Father  was  not  drunk  was  beautiful  and  touching. 

"  It  was  just  like  this,  Mr.  Joseph — you  see,  Mr.  Vance  was  just 
enquiring  whether  the  architect  on  that  job  of  Pettigrew's  was  a 
fool,  or  what  he  was,  for  to  go  and  stick  up  a  bressumer  made  of 
a  quarter-inch  flitch  and  a  couple  of  battens;  when  it  orter  have 
been  a  proper  wrot-iron  girder  to  carry  that  four  story  of  ware- 
'u'ses  of  heavy  goods — and  o'  course  the  guv'nor  was  right,  and  any 
child  might  have  known " 

"Get  along,  Shaw!     Never  mind  the  girder." 

"  Well,  Sir,  I  says  to  the  Guv'nor,  I  says,  '  I'm  only  cartin'  'em 
off  what's  on  the  order,  wrote  plain,  and  it  ain't  for  me  to  judge. 
If  they  was  to  order  pickles  I  should  have  to  send  'em,  if  they  was 
in  the  yard.' " 

"  And  then  my  Father  said  ?— Cut  on,  Shaw " 

"  He  said  nothing,  Sir.  But  I  says,  '  If  the  order's  counter- 
signed by  the  storekeeper,  wot  then  ? '  I  says.  And  then,  he  says, 
*  Where's  that  fool  Riley  ? ' — he's  that  noo  storekeeper  came  when 
Gabriel  went — hashmatic  chap — you  know  ? " 

"  Of  course.  Get  along,  etc."  I  was  obliged  to  urge  Shaw 
forward.  And  thus  urged  he  became  more  concise  and  told  how 
my  Father  went  to  look  for  Riley  in  the  stores,  and  he  wasn't 
there.  And  there  was  a  strong  smell  of  gas  in  the  passage — «, 
most  noticeable  strong  smell,  Mr.  Vance  said.  And  Mr.  Vance, 
half  asleep,  corrected  the  adjective  noticeable,  and  laid  claim  to 
having  used  one  which  I  suppose  Shaw's  delicacy  had  suppressed. 


328  JOSEPH  VANCE 

It  was  the  one  I  bad  occasion  to  record  once  or  twice  at  the  begin- 
ning of  this  narrative.  My  Father  had  practically  abolished  its 
use — but  when  by  any  chance  he  harked  back  to  it,  he  was  too 
honourable  to  shirk  acknowledgment. 

Shaw  had  then  left  my  Father  in  the  passage,  and  gone  to 
examine  the  upper  building.  He  passed  Willis  just  coming  down 
after  having  seen  me,  and  was  coming  out  of  the  upper  story  to 
report  that  the  place  was  choked  with  gas  (no  lights  were  lighted 
there,  of  course)  when  the  explosion  came,  breaking  every  window 
and  flinging  him  into  the  yard.  He  was  up  in  an  instant  and 
back  in  the  lower  passage  searching  for  my  Father.  He  had  been 
beaten  back  twice  by  the  smoke  when  I  came  down. 

I  am  glad  now  to  think  that  my  Father  was  never  conscious 
that  he  was  the  cause  of  the  explosion.  For  when  he  told  me  his 
version  afterwards  it  was  clear  that  he  had  lighted  a  wax  Vesta 
match  on  the  wall,  the  box-side  being  worn  smooth;  and  he  cited 
this  match  as  a  proof  that  the  air  (where  he  was)  was  inexplosive. 
"  Besides,"  said  he,  "  it  wasn't  alight  in  the  sense  of  burning  at 
all — for  a  puff  of  wind  came  sharp  out  of  a  crack  in  the  wall  and 
blew  it  out  a'most  before  it  was  lighted."  It  was  only  too  clear 
to  me  what  had  happened.  My  Father's  power  of  observation  had 
not  been  equal  to  seeing  that  the  puff  of  air  was  an  explosive  mix- 
ture, coming  through  from  a  magazine  ready  to  take  a  hint,  and 
become  an  exploding  mixture  elsewhere.  A  sober  man  would  have 
seen  that  the  puff  was  the  birth  of  the  explosion,  which  came  of 
age  on  the  other  side  of  an  eighteen-inch  wall,  luckily  for  him. 
No  doubt  the  atmosphere,  where  he  was,  was  sorry,  and  envied 
that  in  the  next  room  for  being  able  to  blow  up  and  cut  such  a 
figure. 

I  left  my  poor  Dad  under  his  delusion.  But  the  reason  why 
Vance  &  Co.'s  works  at  Clapham  were  burned  to  the  ground  in 
three  hours  was  that  Vance  was  drunk,  and  Co.  was  somewhere 
else. 

The  Philip  Slacks,  whose  front  parlour  we  had  made  such  an 
extraordinary  invasion  of,  were  very  civil;  Mr.  Slack  having  him- 
self suggested  the  arrangement  when  the  firemen  were  hesitating 
about  taking  my  Father  into  his  own  house.  Mrs.  Philip  Slack 
certainly  had  to  be  convinced  that  fire  was  not  communicable,  like 
Leprosy,  before  admitting  us.  Once  convinced,  she  was  really 
very  hospitable  and  gave  us  tea  and  bread  and  butter  to  console  us. 
But  she  knew  my  Father  had  married  his  housemaid.  So  it  was 
the  kitchen  tea  in  a  black  Rockingham  pot.  And  the  bread  and 
butter  was  not  cut  off  the  French  loaf,  but  a  household  half- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  329 

quartern.  Pheener  told  me  all  this  later.  I  didn't  see  it  myself 
at  the  time,  but  was  grateful  for  the  tea.  Perhaps  it  wasn't  true. 

How  the  delayed  advent  of  the  water  came  about  I  do  not  know 
— I  suppose  the  heat  melted  the  icy  stopper  of  a  frozen  main- 
pipe.  Anyhow,  it  came  too  late  to  save  the  house,  though  it  'was 
in  time  to  stave  off  a  visit  of  the  Sappers  and  Miners,  and  the 
knocking  down  of  a  street  or  two.  Just  as  Bony  arrived,  having 
been  detained  as  a  witness  by  a  Committee  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, the  first  benevolent  torrents  of  water  were  beginning  to  hiss 
on  the  ruins  of  the  great  bonfire  that  had  given  such  keen  pleasure 
to  the  inhabitants  of  Clapham  and  Batter  sea. 

But  the  works  were  a  heap  of  blazing  or  smouldering  ruins,  and 
the  house  on  the  way  to  become  so.  And  my  Father  was  on  his 
back  unable  to  move.  And  the  Philip  Slacks  were  going  out  to 
dinner  if  the  coachman  thought  he  could  manage  in  the  fog.  And 
I  was  glad  when  the  fog  lifted  and  the  coachman  thought  he  could, 
for  the  Philip  Slacks  had  been  very  amiable,  Rockingham  or  no, 
and  I  have  still  a  hazy  impression  that  I  overheard  Mrs.  Philip  say 
that  Pheener  was  really  almost  (only-she-hated-the-expression-and 
wouldn't-use-it-only-she-didn't-know-any-other)  a  lady.  Whether 
she  knew  my  poor  Daddy  was  drunk,  I  don't  know. 

"  Cheer  up,  old  man.  He'll  be  all  right  with  rest  in  a  day  or 
two.  Doctor  says  so." 

"Don't  be  down-hearted,  Jack  darling.  He  got  right  before — 
long  ago — and  he'll  do  it  again.  You  see  if  he  doesn't !  " 

"  And  as  for  the  Factory  and  the  House,  Insurance  covers  every- 
thing— interruption  to  business — doctor's  bills — everything !  " 

"  Yes,  dearest !  And  think  what  a  satisfaction  it  is  that  so 
many  things  can  be  burned  and  no  one  lose  anything.  Because  if 
you  hadn't  been  burned  somebody  else  would,  to  make  up  the 
average.  Papa's  told  me  about  it  heaps  of  times." 

The  speakers  were  Bony  and  my  wife,  alternately.  The  scene 
was  our  Cheyne-Row  drawing-room,  before  a  blazing  fire.  The 
time  was  the  end  of  toddy-time,  and  the  time  to  come  a  most 
welcome  bedtime.  For  we  had  somehow  contrived  to  transport  my 
Father  in  an  ambulance  through  the  fog  (which  had  thickened 
again  as  soon  as  the  Philip  Slacks'  coachman  had  committed  him- 
self) and  had  followed  in  its  wake — a  melancholy  procession  of  six 
persons — Bony,  my  stepmother,  Cook,  the  housemaid,  house- 
parlourmaid,  and  myself.  The  boy  Nips  was  known  to  be  safe 
from  the  flames,  but  preferred  to  remain  behind  to  impede  the 
firemen,  so  far  as  opportunity  should  be  vouchsafed  to  him;  to 


330  JOSEPH  VANCE 

misinform  the  inquisitive,  and  in  short  to  enjoy  thoroughly  rjji 
occasion  not  likely  to  come  twice  in  a  life.  There  was  fortunately 
no  difficulty  about  finding  room  for  the  outcasts  in  our  two  house- 
holds. So  we  were  looking  forward  to  sleeping  in  comfort,  after 
just  a  few  minutes  more  of  recapitulation.  I  felt  I  ought  to  do 
my  share  of  the  cheering  up,  and  shook  oft'  some  vague  misgiving 
of  further  evil  that  I  had  kept  on  feeling  at  intervals. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  about  that,"  said  I.  "  I  was  thinking  about 
that  jolly  old  place  I  told  you  of  at  dinner — what  the  Schloss 
came  down  on." 

"  Poor,  dear,  silly  Jack !     And  you  were  the  Syndic  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  there  was  such  a  nice  family,  the  Schneiders — who 
lived  on  the  Lindenstrasse — three  such  pretty  girls.  Hedwig  was 
the  youngest — they  might  have  let  me  sleep  a  little  longer." 

Just  at  this  point  Jeannie  came  back  putting  things  on  to  go 
back  home.  She  became  so  interested  about  Hedwig  that  I  had 
to  assure  her  I  was  married  already  in  the  dream  and  had  five 
daughters -myself,  all  as  ugly  as  their  mother  and  as  worthy.  Her 
sympathies  were  so  excited  that  Bony  had  to  drag  her  away! 

"  And  oh,  you  poor,  dear,  darling  Jack,"  said  Janey,  when  we 
were  left  alone.  "  How  you  did  look  when  you  came  in,  black  all 
over!  And  if  I  hadn't  seen  you  before  I  saw  the  ambulance,  I 
don't  know  what  wouldn't  have  happened!  Where  ever  did  you 
get  it?" 

"I  don't  know — it  came!  They  are  to  come  for  it.  Who  are 
they?  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea.  I  have  no  idea  of  anything — 
I  only  know  I  have  a  letter  from  Lossie  in  my  pocket  I  haven't 
read,  and  you  must  read  it  to  me  at  breakfast." 

"  Give  it  to  me.     Nothing  from  Hedwig,  I  suppose  ? " 

"Nothing,  so  far.  I'm  afraid  they're  all  squashed.  It's  very 
sad.  What's  that?" 

"  It's  a  ring  at  the  front-door  bell.  What  can  it  be  at  this  time 
of  night?" 

It  was  an  officer  of  the  Fire-Brigade,  who  left  other  brass  hel- 
mets outside,  in  an  atmosphere  of  lamp  glare  and  horse-steam 
and  hoof -stamps,  and  came  in  to  confer.  He  was  quite  fresh  and 
happy,  an  image  of  contentment  emerging  from  a  fog. 

"  Sorry  to  trouble  you  again,  Sir.  Mr.  Joseph  Vance,  I  think  ? 
On  account  of  particulars  for  report.  Christopher  Vance  and 
Son,  Builders—?" 

"And  Co.,"  said  I,  "not  Son.  And  Vance  and  Macallister, 
Engineers." 

"  Quite  right,  Sir,"  said  he,  referring  to  a  pocketbook  as  though 


JOSEPH  VANCE  331 

confirming  an  accurate  guess,  that  did  me  credit.  "  Building  of 
five  stories  in  use  as  Workshops,  Out-buildings,  and  Timber-yard. 
Detached  Residence  of  two  stories,  occupied  by  Mr.  C.  Vance. 
Cause  fire  due  Gas  Explosion  in  basement.  Owing  to  water-sup- 
ply— hum — hm — impeded  by  frost — found  impossible — save  any 

portion  of  buildings.  Loss  falls  on ?  Can  you  kindly  supply 

Insurance  Offices,  Mr.  Vance  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't.  My  Father  attended  to  all  that.  Stop  a 
minute!  If  he's  awake  I'll  ask  him."  And  I  ran  upstairs  to  do 
so,  but  Pheener,  who  had  remained  with  him  all  the  evening,  and 
had  now  gone  to  bed  herself,  told  me  through  the  door  that  he  was 
quite  sound,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  to  wake  him.  I  agreed,  and 
went  back.  Janey  had  been  chatting  with  the  officer.  "  Oh,  Jack 
dear,"  said  she,  "  it  is  so  sad — poor  Nelson — the  rough  dog  you 
know  that  lived  in  the  yard?  You  know?  Well,  he  was  found 
dead  in  the  basement — not  burned,  but  choked  by  the  smoke." 

"  Just  under  the  first  explosion,  Mr.  Vance.  Flame  didn't 
reach — but  smoke  and  heat  to  kill  a  dozen  dogs.  Must  have  got 
in  at  the  first  go-off.  Otherwise  no  casualty.  With  reference  to 
the  Insurance,  Mr.  Vance  ? " 

"  My  Father's  asleep,  and  I  don't  want  to  wake  him.  Can't  you 
say  merely  that  the  premises  were  fully  insured  ? " 

"  So  far  as  can  be  ascertained,  fully  covered  by  insurance — 
naming  no  office."  Thus  the  fireman,  who  then  took  his  leave, 
declining  refreshment,  and  hoping  he  hadn't  put  us  out. 

"  What  an  odd  hope  for  a  fireman !  "  said  Janey.  "  But  think  of 
that  poor  dog !  " 

Poor  Nelson !  He  had  seen  clearly  that  my  Father  was  not  able 
to  take  care  of  himself,  and  had  run  in  to  help.  He  overshot  his 
mark  in  the  passage,  and  no  doubt  went  searching  about  in  the 
smoke  until  he  met  his  death. 

The  young  person  who  does  me  out,  and  sees  to  me  and  lights 
my  fire  too  late,  and  makes  my  bed  without  tucking  it  in  at  the 
end — so  that  spectres  would  get  hold  of  my  toes  if  I  didn't  always 
religiously  tuck  it  in  myself — this  young  person  could  not  get 
the  fire  to  burn  this  morning  of  March,  1895.  I  am  not  surprised. 
If  I  had  been  a  fire  laid  like  that  I  would  not  have  burned,  my- 
self. But  the  young  person,  Betsy  Austin,  driven  to  lawlessness 
by  failure,  appropriated  a  portion  of  a  broken  drawer  of  an  old 
desk  I  was  patching  up,  and  forcing  it  in  upwards  and  sideways 
and  downwards  into  the  incombustible  matrix  she  was  blowing 
the  smoke  out  of  into  her  eyes  and  the  room,  decided  that  it  had 


332  JOSEPH  VANCE 

caught  and  would  do  now,  and  devoted  herself  to  laying  the 
breakfast.  I  was  just  in  time  to  snatch  the  bit  of  mahogany  from 
the  fire  and  put  it  in  my  bath-water.  It  fizzed  and  went  out,  and 
then  tried  to  pretend  it  wasn't  spoiled,  ineffectually. 

And  it  made  the  whole  place  smell  strong  of  extinguished  burn- 
ing wood.  And  the  smell  thereof  brought  back  to  me  the  day  of 
my  last  chapter,  as  nothing  but  a  smell  can  bring  things  back.  It 
brought  back  my  ride  down  with  Bony  to  the  cinder  heap  that  had 
been  the  works,  and  the  Hansom  Cabman,  who,  when  he  was  told 
where  to  drive,  said,  "  I  know — close  by  where  the  fire  was  last 
night."  His  respect  for  us  went  up  enormously  when  he  found 
that  we  were  in  a  sort  of  way  "  The  Fire "  ourselves,  or  near 
relations. 

Oh,  the  ghastliness  of  the  ruin  and  destruction!  It  was  heart- 
sickening  to  think  of  the  contents  of  that  dreadful  heap  of 
smouldering  rubbish  that  choked  up  what  had  been  the  lowest 
story  of  the  main  building.  It  was  still  rebellious,  but  was  being 
pumped  on  by  a  dispassionate  engine,  which  was  so  sure  it  would 
beat  in  the  end  that  it  never  lost  its  temper,  or  said  an  angry 
word.  I  knew  that  heap  contained  the  caput  mortuum  of  all  my 
drawings  of  machinery  inventions  for  years  past,  and  all  the  costly 
plant  that  was  soon  to  have  been  carefully  removed  to  the  new 
Chelsea  buildings,  and  half-completed  contracts  by  the  ton.  And 
I  knew  the  worst  of  it  would  be — that  everything  in  that  heap 
would  be  just  quite  spoiled,  but  no  more.  There  would  be  lathes 
that  would  still  do  to  stand  outside  a  second-hand  dealer's  in 
Southwark,  but  that  would  never  turn  true  again;  planing  ma- 
chines with  bed-plates  like  beds  on  which  angular  people  have  had 
sleepless  nights;  drilling-machines  that  wagged  their  drills  as  dogs 
their  tails;  things  with  eccentric  movements  whose  eccentricities 
had  become  ungovernable.  In  that  heap  were  those  letters  that  I 
had  seen  on  my  desk,  all  but  the  one  from  Lossie.  That  was 
something  saved,  at  any  rate. 

Firemen  with  small  nozzles  were  putting  finishing  touches  on 
the  extinction,  after  the  coarse  work  done  by  the  big  water-jets, 
just  as  painters  use  small  sables  after  hog-hair  has  done  its  worst. 
Every  now  and  then  came  a  crash  of  falling  timber  or  wall — 
tenacious  bits  that  had  remained  behind  when  the  roof  fell  in. 
Daring  helmeted  climbers  with  axes  were  helping  down  these 
stragglers,  and  as  it  seemed  to  me  running  needless  risks  to  this 
end.  I  thought  all  hands  would  be  best  employed  shoring  up  the 
front  of  the  high  building,  and  said  so  to  the  head  fireman.  Ha 
evidently  doubted  our  statement  that  we  were  Vance  &  Macallister, 


JOSEPH  VANCE  333 

and  held  a  kind  of  court  of  identification  under  the  wall  we  had 
thought  dangerous.  Having  reluctantly  conceded  that  we  had  an 
interest  in  the  property,  he  looked  up  at  the  overhanging  wall  (the 
fall  of  which  would  have  killed  all  three)  and  expressed  confidence 
in  its  stability,  but  to  indulge  our  whim  remarked  that  you  might 
shore  up  most  walls.  There  were  any  number  of  men  available, 
so  I  had  a  temporary  affair  rigged  up  at  once.  I  was  gratified  to 
hear  from  the  same  fireman  later  in  the  day,  that  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  that  bit  of  timber  "  we "  thought  of  putting  up,  that  wall 
would  have  come  down  on  some  of  us.  He  must  have  been  a 
brother  of  Pring. 

If  a  burned-out  factory  is  sad,  a  burned-out  home  is  sadder  still. 
One  half -burned  is  perhaps  the  worst  of  all.  The  roof  of  my 
Father's  house  and  the  upper  floors  were  completely  wrecked  by 
the  fire.  The  lower  ones  were  scorched  by  the  burning  ceilings, 
but  the  deluge  of  water  that  came  at  last  had  done  its  best  to 
finish  the  job.  Some  of  the  furniture  and  pictures  had  been  got 
away;  but  a  good  deal  remained,  the  Salvage  Corps  having  dealt 
with  the  lower  rooms  last,  believing  that  the  water  would  be  in 
time  to  save  them.  I  saw  my  Father's  leather  armchair  in  the 
snuggery,  in  a  stack  covered  with  tarpaulins  to  shelter  it  from  the 
expected  deluge.  There  also  I  found  his  writing-table,  which  I 
was  glad  of,  but  it  was  tight  in  the  stack,  and  the  building  was 
not  safe,  so  for  the  present  I  made  no  effort  to  extract  it.  On  the 
chimneypiece  stood  an  empty  whiskey-bottle  looking  jaunty.  How 
it  must  have  chuckled  over  its  handiwork! 

Two  refrains  ran  continuously  through  the  whole — one  cheerful, 
the  other  depressing.  The  first  was  the  universal  conviction  that 
Insurance  covered  everything,  the  second  the  equally  universal, 
all-pervading  stench  of  the  water  on  the  burned  wood.  No  won- 
der the  same  smell  brought  it  all  back  to  me  so  vividly  this  morn- 
ing! It  drove  me  away  at  last  from  a  place  where  I  could  be  of 
no  further  use.  I  merely  arranged  with  the  Salvagee  in  charge 
for  the  delivery  of  some  goods  (which  I  specified)  at  the  house  in 
Chelsea,  and  told  my  partner  I  should  go  home,  whether  he  did  or 
not.  I  wanted  to  see  my  Father,  who  was  probably  awake  by 
now. 

"  Just  take  one  more  turn  round,"  said  Bony,  "  in  case  there's 
anything." 

We  took  one  more  turn  round,  and  there  was  nothing.  Only, 
just  as  we  were  leaving  what  had  been  the  Office  at  the  Works,  my 
«ye  was  caught  by  something  that  struck  me  as  familiar.  It  was 
a  burned  piece  of  board,  some  two  feet  long,  with  an  inscription 


334  JOSEPH  VANCE 

on  it.  And  enough  was  still  visible  to  show  me,  who  knew  it  of 
old,  that  it  ran,  "  C.  Vance — Builder — Repairs — Drains  promptly 
attended  to." 

No  wonder  the  smell  of  my  burnt  desk  brought  it  back.  I  will 
not  replace  that  bit  of  broken  drawer  (for  I  know  it  will  smell), 
though  Betsy  Austin  expresses  contempt  for  my  "finicking"  pre- 
cision, and  alleges  that  I  am  making  a  fuss  about  nothing.  "  Just 
as  good  as  ever  it  was,"  is  her  verdict.  She  does  not  seem  to  see 
that  an  isolated  escape  from  her  destroying  hand  will  do  little 
to  counteract  her  defects  as  a  maid-of-all-wcrk.  She  will  speak 
of  me  downstairs  as  a  sort  of  precise  old  maid,  bent  on  inter- 
rupting the  well-organized  routine  of  what  she  calls  her  Work. 
This  presents  itself  to  me  as  a  whirlwind.  And  no  slight  one 
either,  for  Betsy's  arms  are  not  only  fine  arms,  but  strong  ones, 
and  she  can  just  as  soon  smash  the  furniture  as  tidy  it  up,  which 
is  an  accomplishment  she  claims  perfection  in. 

Am  I  sure  I  am  not  writing  this  with  the  intention  of  leaving 
it  open  on  my  desk  that  Betsy  may  read  it,  and  be  wounded  by  my 
poignant  sarcasms?  I  am,  because  I  know  that  Betsy  would  be 
adamant,  and  would  include  it  in  the  broad  category  she  describes 
as  my  nonsense. 

But  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Betsy  now.  I  have  to  get  back 
to  my  sheep — my  sheep  that  are  memories,  browsing  in  the  mem- 
ories of  pastures  of  thirty  years  ago ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

OF  A  BRAIN-WAVE  THAT  WENT  TO  INDIA.  AND  OF  AN  OPTICAL  DELUSION. 
HOW  JOE  TOOK  THE  NEWS  TO  DR.  THORPE,  AND  BEPPINO  WAS  A  BORE. 
AUNT  IZZY  TOO  DEAF  FOR  ANYTHING.  DR.  THORPE  AND  JOE  WALK  TO 
CHELSEA. 

"  I  WONDER  what  Lady  Desprez  meant,  Jack  ? "  said  Janey  that 
afternoon.  She  and  I  and  my  stepmother  were  at  tea  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. "  Lady  who  ? "  said  I.  For  I  was  always  forgetting 
that  now  that  her  husband  was  Sir  Hugh,  Lossie  was  a  Lady. 

"  Well — Lossie,  then !  "  replied  Janey.  "  What  we  read  in  her 
letter  at  breakfast.  Give  me  her  letter  and  I'll  read  it  again.  Or 
stop  a  minute,  till  I  send  your  Father  his  tea.  If  you're  sure 
neither  of  you  will  have  another  cup,  I  can  send  the  pot  up."  We 
were  sure,  so,  as  I  had  not  seen  very  much  of  my  Dad,  who  re- 
mained on  his  back  by  the  Doctor's  orders,  I  carried  him  up  his 
tea  on  a  baby  tray,  to  which  concessions  of  tea-components  were 
made  by  the  parent  tray;  the  more  readily  as  the  fog,  which  was 
nearly  as  bad  as  yesterday,  made  visitors  very  improbable. 

If  he  had  not  been  ordered  to  remain  still  by  a  Doctor,  he  would 
never  have  tried  to  move.  Indeed,  he  had  only  done  so  once  or 
twice  in  order  to  upset  the  diagnosis,  and  in  doing  so  had  suf- 
fered great  pain.  But  it  made  him  feel  happier,  and  he  was  now 
deriving  great  satisfaction  from  pretending  he  could  move  if  he 
was  allowed,  and  ascribing  interested  motives  to  the  third  person 
plural,  who  was  scheming,  he  said,  to  keep  him  on  the  flat  list. 

"  If  they  was  to  let  me  get  up  and  walk  about  a  bit,  Nipper," 
said  he,  "I  should  soon  be  right  enough.  But  they  always  was 
at  that  game,  and  always  will  be.  Makin'  a  job !  Just  like  'em ! 
Tea?  That's  good.  Nothin'  like  a  Nipper,  after  all!  Oh  yes,  I 
can  sit  up,  Joey  dear,  right  enough." 

But  he  couldn't,  without  me  to  raise  him.  And  what  a  dif- 
ficult job  it  is  to  manipulate  nineteen  stone,  that  can't  help  itself  I 

"  PVaps  little  Clementina  will  toast  me  a  big  bit  of  thick  toast 
herself,  soft  inside.  This  stuff  ain't  toast  at  all,  not  as  I  look  at 

it.  I  should  consider  it  match-boxes "  So  I  went  down  again, 

and  the  drawing-room  fire  being  superb,  the  toasting-fork  was  rung 

335 


336  JOSEPH  VANCE 

for.  "  Give  it  me,  Mast — "  said  Pheener,  and  I  fixed  her  with  my 
eye.  "  Give  it  me,  Joseph,"  said  she,  correcting  herself,  and  I 
handed  her  the  fork. 

"It  is  very  curious,"  said  Janey,  going  back  to  our  former 
conversation.  And  as  I  stood  waiting  for  the  toast,  she  read 
again  from  Lossie's  letter: 

"I  am  making  myself  very  uncomfortable  about  your  father, 
and  I  have  no  idea  why.  There  is  nothing  in  your  last  letter 
to  point  to  any  disaster.  I  dare  say  it  is  only  imagination.  I 
hope  so.  But  whenever  I  think  of  him  it  is  always  on  precipices, 
and  he  is  always  going  to  put  his  foot  down  in  the  wrong  place, 
and  no  one  is  there  to  stop  him.  If  I  commit  myself  thoroughly 
to  being  thought  superstitious  and  morbid,  perhaps  it  will  be  the 
best  way  to  avert  the  omen.  Papa  used  always  to  say  that  vaticina- 
tions after  the  fact  were  the  only  ones  that  came  true.  So  I  will 
get  myself  thoroughly  involved,  in  the  interest  of  yourself  and 
your  Daddy,  and  place  my  presentiment  boldly  on  record,  so  that 
it  may  turn  out  false.  It  is  just  a  fortnight  since  that  I  said  to 
Hugh  that  I  was  sure  something  was  going  wrong,  and  -that  was 
the  time  I  felt  it  most  strongly.  I  shall  be  so  glad,  dear  Joe,  when 
I  get  your  next  letter,  and  find,  as  I  hope  I  shall,  no  bad  news.  I 
can't  get  your  letter  covering  that  date  for  more  than  a  month. 
What  nuisances  time  and  space  are ! " 

"Then  the  letter  goes  on  about  the  children,"  said  Janey. 
"But  isn't  it  odd,  Jack?" 

"  I  thought  it  was  odd  when  we  read  it  at  breakfast.  But,  any- 
how, you  see,  it  was  a  false  presentiment,  because  the  date  of  the 
letter  is  November  the  third,  and  Dad  was  quite  well  all  through 
October.  You  know  the  Chinese  proverb,  '  Cherish  the  false 
Prophet  who  predicts  disaster,  and  the  true  one  who  foresees 
health/— Isn't  that  toast  done?" 

It  was,  and  I  carried  it  upstairs. 

"  There's  two  beggars  with  a  wan  at  the  gate,"  said  my  Father. 
I  looked  out.  It  was  the  salvaged  goods  I  had  told  them  to  send 
on.  "  They'll  want  a  formal  receipt  for  them,  I  expect.  They'll 
be  credited  to  the  Globe  Insurance  on  the  house,  being  Salvage — 
at  least,  I  suppose  so.  What  was  there  ?  " 

There  were  some  pictures  from  the  drawing-room,  the  writing 
table  from  the  Snuggery,  and  so  forth.  I  mentioned  all  I  recol- 
lected. 

"  I  shouldn't  mind,"  said  my  Father,  with  a  sadder  note  in  his 


JOSEPH  VANCE  337 

voice  than  I  had  so  far  heard,  "  if  them  two  picters  of  Stags  be- 
fore Letters  was  put  up  here  for  me  to  look  at.  I  shouldn't  feel 
so  cut  adrift  from  your  Mother,  dear  Nipper."  I  said  they  should 
come. 

"  And  that's  a  knee-hole  table,  and  comes  in  four.  Two  sides, 
top,  and  pigeonholes  to  stand  on.  They  might  carry  that  up  too. 
There's  papers  in  it."  I  promised  this  also,  and  went  to  give 
directions. 

The  pictures  and  the  table  were  soon  brought  up.  My  Father 
seemed  more  interested  about  the  pictures  than  the  table,  and  lay 
looking  at  them. 

"  Never  mind  looking  at  the  desk  now.  We'll  do  him  to-morrow. 
There's  no  hurry  for  anything  now,  not  till  'Ickman's  commooni- 
cated  with  the  Insurance." 

Hickman  had  called  in  the  morning,  but  I  was  away  at  the  new 
Works,  and  my  Father  was  asleep.  He  slept  a  good  deal.  Hick- 
man  had  left  word  that  he  would  call  to-morrow  afternoon.  My 
Father  lit  his  pipe. 

"  Your  Mother  never  saw  those  two,"  said  he.  "  What's  their 
names?  Stags  without  Words,  or  something?  Miss  Dowdeswell 
had  better  dust  the  frames  of  them."  He  called  his  wife  Miss 
Dowdeswell,  having  never  once  called  her  so,  until  to  oblige  him 
she  gave  up  being  Miss  Dowdeswell.  She  said  he  was  that  con- 
tradictious! As  for  the  last  new  picture  title,  it  was  due  to 
Jeannie  having  played  some  Mendelssohn,  and  his  having  asked 
the  name  of  that  toon. 

"  No — your  Mother  she  was  to  have  come  down  and  seen  'em, 
and  she  never  came.  Never  having  seen  'em,  I  mix  'em  up  with 
her,  natural  like,  and  it's  less  by  way  of  being  cut  adrift.  I  can 
only  see  the  reflection  of  the  winder  in  that  one.  Give  him  a  tilt. 
There  ain't  much  light  to  see  anything  by."  He  smoked  awhile 
peacefully,  and  then  began,  "  I  say,  Nipper  dear " 

"What,  Dad?" 

"  Was  I  very  drunk  ? "  I  felt  it  was  a  case  for  prequivocation, 
and  that  I  was  on  dangerous  ground.  So  I  asked  why  ?  "  But 
was  I?"  said  he. 

"  That  depends,  Daddy  dear,  on  what  you  call  drunk.  You 
might  have  had  less.  It  doesn't  matter  now.  Let's  talk  about 
the  Stags." 

"  Got  anything  particular  to  say  about  the  Stags? " 

"  Nothing  very  particular." 

"  Then  let's  talk  about  the  drink.  You  see,  that's  what  it  turn? 
on."  I  asked  what  it  was  that  turned  on  it. 


338  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  Only — what  do  you  call  those  games  they  have  at  Scientific 
Lecters — not  conjuring,  but  red  and  green  lines,  and  vertical  and 

horizontal  ? When  you  always  get  took  in  whether  or  no  ?  " 

I  got  a  clue  and  suggested  Optical  Delusions.  "To  be  sure,"  said 
he,  and  then  after  a  puff  or  two  went  on: 

"  Now  the  question  is,  was  this  here  an  Optical  Delusion  ? 
When  they  brought  me  across  to  what's-their-names — Placket 
Hole's  or  something  like  it — on  that  portable  hammock  turn-out — 
I  was  thinking  of  nothing  but  getting  the  horses  out  of  the  stables 
before  they  was  redooced  to  ashes." 

"  Of  course  they  were  got  out  first  thing,"  I  interjected. 

"  Of  course.  But  when  you're  in  a  stage  of  intoxication,  you're 
mostly  muddled,  whatever  the  stage  may  be.  Anyhow,  I  wasn't 
thinking  of  your  Mother.  And  she  says  to  me  quite  sharp  and 
sudden  like " 

"  Hullo,"  said  I,  under  my  breath,  for  I  thought  he  was  delirious 
and  began  feeling  his  pulse. 

"  Feel  away,  Nipper  dear,"  said  he.  "  I'm  just  as  normal  as 
usual,  and  fairer  than  that  I  can't  say.  When  youVe  put  your 
watch  up,  we'll  get  along ! "  As  he  was,  if  anything,  less  normal 
than  usual  (admitting  the  expression),  I  put  my  watch  up,  and 
felt  I  cut  a  therapeutic  figure.  He  continued: 

" — quite  sharp  and  sudden  like,  'Recollect  Pheener's 
packet ' » 

"  Do  you  mean  you  heard  her,  or  only  thought  you  heard  her  ? " 

"  Well,  dear  boy,  you  see  they're  so  dam  like  if  you  only  think 
hard  enough.  It  was  one  or  the  other.  But  was  it  an  Optical 
Delusion?  Or  was  it  doo  to  Alcohol?  Or  what?  I  heard  it, 
anyhow — that  clear  that  if  it  had  crossed  my  mind  that  the  In- 
flurance  would  cover  that  like  anything  else,  I  should  have  spoke 
out  plain  to  your  Mother  not  to  fret  about  it,  and  it  would  have 
been  put  down  to  the  score  of  the  Alcohol.  Because  to  speak  fair, 
Nipper  dear,  your  disgustin'  old  Daddy  had  been,  what  with  the 
cold  and  the  taste  of  the  fog,  giving  himself  a  sort  of" — he 
hesitated  a  moment — "  a  sort  of  alcoholiday,  in  the  manner  of 
speaking." 

"  Dear  old  Dad !  You'll  never  be  disgusting,  not  if  you  were  as 
drunk  as  a  Lord." 

"But  suppose  I  was  as  drunk  as  the  House  of  Lords — hay, 
boy  ? "  And  my  Father  laughed  and  rolled  about  in  his  old  manner. 
But  I  think  it  hurt  him,  for  his  breath  caught,  and  he  stopped 
short  with,  "  All  right,  Joey,  it's  nothing !  "• 

"  But  what  was  the  packet? "  I  asked. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  33$ 

u  A  bit  of  knick-knack  little  Clementina  gave  me  to  take  care 
of  for  her.  It  was  a  trifle  I  gave  her  before  she  packed  her  boxes. 
And  she  gave  it  me  back  to  take  care  of,  of  her  own  free  will. 
And  she  ain't  to  look  at  it  now.  So  we'll  just  say  nothing  about  it. 
The  man  in  the  shop  where  I  bought  it  called  it  a  Tiarrhoea." 

"A  what?" 

"A  Tiarrhoea.  Like  before  taking,  shake  the  bottle.  A  wine- 
glassful  after  every " 

But  the  entry  of  Miss  Dowdeswell  herself  made  it  impossible  to 
pursue  the  subject. 

Next  day  I  went  over  to  Dr.  Thorpe's  early.  I  thought  the 
chances  were  very  large  that  that  Library  Beggar  (as  my  Father 
had  called  him)  being  immersed  in  his  books,  and  only  glancing 
very  slightly  at  the  paper,  would  know  nothing  about  the  fire  until 
I  went  to  tell  him.  I  was  quite  right. 

"Good  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "What,  Joe!  All  burned,  house 
and  all." 

"  A  few  scraps  saved  from  the  house.  Otherwise  all  converted 
into  oxides,  with  evolution  of  caloric." 

"  But,  Joe — Joe  dear — don't  make  chemical  jokes !  Tell  me. 
How  did  it  happen?  When  did  it  begin?  Was  it  any  one's  fault? 
Will  the  Insurance  cover  it  ? " 

"  Oh  yes — fully  covered  by  Insurance."  But  why  did  I  feel 
conscious  that  I  was  mechanically  repeating  the  fireman's  words, 
not  speaking  from  my  own  knowledge? 

"  Well !  That's  a  good  job,  anyhow ! "  and  the  Doctor  looked 
relieved.  "  And  how  is  every  one  ?  How's  your  Father  ? " 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it.  I'm  afraid  he's  had  a  bad  shake  in  the 
back — a  recrudescence  of  an  old  accident — a  thing  that  happened 
ages  ago.  Just  before  you  set  me  going  in  life,  Doctor !  "  And  I 
gave  the  Doctor  the  whole  story  of  the  fire,  finishing  with  the  pas- 
sage in  Lossie's  letter,  which  I  had  brought  to  show  him,  and  my 
Father's  fancy  about  my  Mother's  voice. 

"  Two  eerie  incidents  in  one  day ! "  said  he.  "  I  always  think 
these  things  should  be  put  on  record.  But  Loss  was  evidently  at 
fault,  because  it  has  all  come  about  later.  I  should  of  course  like 
the  other  thing  to  be  what  it  seemed.  You  know  my  ideas  ?  " 

I  knew  them  and  should  have  liked  to  talk  about  them.  But  we 
were  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  Beppino. 

Perhaps  if  ever  you  read  this — (and  recollect!  If  you  don't 
read  this  you  won't  b©  in  existence.  So  look  out  for  squalls) — you 
will  notice  that  I  scarcely  describe  any  of  my  memories  of  people. 
This  is  becauae  I  am  not  a  real  author.  If  I  were>  I  would  tell  all 


340  JOSEPH  VANCE 

about  their  exact  shape,  size,  weight,  colour,  and  manner  before 
ever  they  said  a  single  word  in  dialect,  which  of  course  they 
would  do.  I  would  finish  up  a  description  of  a  character  (for 
instance)  by  saying  that  a  pair  of  leather  leggings  the  worse  for 
wear,  and  shooting-boots  down  at  heel  that  had  been  cut  on  the  top 
to  accommodate  gouty  swellings,  completed  the  description  of  good 
old  Isaac  as  I  recollected  him,  and  only  at  the  end  of  my  page  or 
two  of  description  allow  him  to  say  to  his  wife,  "  Be  you  gwine  to 
zimmer  they  ta'aties  ? "  or  "Kick  'em  in  t'  stummuck  if  they  wean't 
budge,"  or  something  similar.  But  even  if  I  were  a  real  author  I 
couldn't  describe  Beppino  at  this  time,  for  he  was  never  the  same 
six  months  together,  and  I  used  only  to  see  him  at  about  that  in- 
terval. As  I  seem  to  have  committed  myself  to  an  interpolation, 
I  may  as  well  indulge  in  it. 

Beppino's  variations  were  owing  to  his  modelling  his  manner  for 
the  time  being  on  that  of  the  last  meteor  of  Art  or  Literature  he 
had  been  introduced  to.  For  Beppino  had  a  social  status  and  was 
very  much  introduced.  He  was  even  spoken  of  familiarly  as 
Messalina  Thorpe,  his  poem  about  that  reprobate  being  the  most 
admired  of  the  celebrated  Trilogy.  At  the  date  of  these  memories 
he  was  founding  himself  on  a  great  dramatist  and  a  great  sculptor, 
neither  of  whom  had  yet  got  tired  of  him.  Now  the  great  sculptor 
rejoiced  in  (or,  at  any  rate,  never  docked)  a  magnificent  crop  of 
red  hair,  and  usually  wore  a  brown  velveteen  coat  when  out  of  the 
studio.  Beppino  was  therefore  spoiling  the  collar  of  an  expensive 
piece  of  tailoring  by  as  large  a  hair  bustle  as  nature  allowed  on  the 
nape  of  his  neck.  And  the  great  dramatist  (apparently)  never 
said  a  brilliant  thing  without  beginning  with  "  My  dear  fellow  " 
in  a  sort  of  drawl  I  can't  easily  reproduce.  But  if  you  will  say  the 
three  words,  "Medea.  Fill.  Awe,"  quite  deliberately  with  full 
stops,  you  will  not  be  far  from  Beppino's  reproduction.  I  never 
saw  *  *  *  *  *  myself,  so  I  can't  say  how  far  the  original  resem- 
bled it.  A  few  months  later  the  fashion  changed,  and  the  only 
way  of  spelling  the  next  pronunciation  quite  exactly  would  be 
"  Deiphila."  Try  them  both,  and  see  if  they  sound  plausible. 

I  believe  his  poems  had  clever  passages  in  them,  but  really  I 
never  read  them.  A  great  poet  of  the  time,  whom  he  was  said  to 
imitate,  expressed  a  guarded  opinion  about  the  Trilogy,  namely 
that  "  it  held  out  promise  of  original  work."  When  pressed  as  to 
whether  it  contained  any,  he  gave  an  evasive  answer.  Beppino 
thought  he  was  jealous,  but  added  that  of  course  he  should  never 
say  so  to  any  one  but  you,  whoever  you  were. 

He  was  musical  and  sang  old  French  songs  and  Italian  stornelli 


JOSEPH  VANCE  341 

with  real  taste  and  feeling.  He  was  very  popular  with  young 
ladies  of  an  artistic  and  non-sporting  turn.  The  sporting  ones 
said  they  couldn't  stand  that  sort  of  thing,  without  making  it 
clear  what  sort.  One,  so  the  story  went,  knocked  Master  Beppino 
off  the  end  of  a  rout-seat  at  a  ball  with  the  sweep  of  a  powerful 
elbow,  and  said  by  way  of  apology,  "  Well,  Mr.  Joseph  Thorpe,  I 
never  asked  you  to  sit  in  my  pocket !  "  However,  I  have  digressed 
enough,  and  Beppino  must  go  on  coming  in  at  the  Library  door, 
where  Dr.  Thorpe  and  I  are  talking  about  what  are  now  called 
Psychical  Researches. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you,  Joe  Vance."  He  certainly  pronounced 
me  Juvence,  quite  distinctly.  "  All  goin'  on  well,  in  your  part  of 
the  world  ?  I  came  to  borrow  Arcadia,  Pater." 

He  had  come  from  his  room  upstairs,  the  nursery  of  old  times, 
where  he  employed  himself  on  various  literary  work.  He  got 
enough  to  do,  I  believe. 

"  What  are  you  at  now,  Joey  ? "  said  the  Doctor.  "  Writing 
Fescennine  verses  and  Bowdlerizing  them  down  to  publication 
point,  I  suppose?  You'll  find  the  book  over  the  door."  And  we 
waited  in  silence  till  he  had  come  down  the  ladder  with  the  book, 
for  neither  of  us  would  have  thought  of  taking  a  Poet  into  our 
confidence.  When  he  landed,  he  blew  the  dust  off  the  book-top 
and  slapped  it  to,  and  then  said,  "  He's  such  an  uncherrytable 
Pater  mine  is ! "  adding  with  a  gush  that  was  distasteful  to  me, 
"  But  he's  a  good  Pater,  and  a  dear  Pater ! "  as  if  I  was  likely  to 
dispute  it.  "  Only  there's  one  thing  he  does  not  understand,  and 
that's  Art." 

"I  suppose  I  don't,  Joey,"  murmured  the  Doctor,  meekly. 
"  Shut  the  door  when  you  go  out." 

Beppino  replaced  the  ladder,  and  was  outside  when  the  Doctor 
resumed  the  conversation. 

"  Naturally  any  one  like  me,  to  whom  the  idea  of  extinction  at 
death  is  absolutely  indigestible,  would  wish  or  hope  for  the  sur- 
vival of  our  affections  on  the  other  side.  But  no  change  is 
inconceivable  to  me,  only  cessation.  Still  it  does  seem  the  most 
obvious  and  probable  thing  that  such  an  incident  as  this  fire,  even 
if  we  become  over  there  insensible  to  matter  as  we  are  here  to 
spirit,  would  be  seen  reflected  in  the  minds  of  Spirits  in  the 
flesh  by — shut  the  door,  Joe,  and  either  come  in  or  out !  " 

The  Poet  came  in,  "Eh  say,"  said  he.  "  Thet's  intrasting! 
Who's  been  on  fire?" 

"  The  factory  was  burned  down  two  days  ago — both  factories— 
my  Father's  works  and  mine." 


342  JOSEPH  YANCE 

"  By  Jove — thet's  serious — anybody  killed  ?  " 

"Nobody  but  a  dog."  Beppino's  face  fell.  "But  my  Father 
had  a  nasty  fall,  and  is  laid  up." 

"By  Jove— thet's  bad!"  He  distinctly  brightened.  "Any 
chance  of  incendiarism  ? "  he  enquired,  anxiously. 

"  None  whatever,  Joey,"  said  his  Father.  "  Nothing  the  least 
tragic  or  poetical.  Just  a  big  bonfire  and  nothing  else.  Nobody's 
even  ruined,  as  insurance  covers  everything." 

"  Pater's  always  hard  on  me,"  said  he.  And  I  am  confident  that 
he  utilized  the  genuine  dejection  he  felt  at  the  prosaic  nature  of 
the  disaster  as  a  means  of  expressing  sympathy.  "But  I  say — 
you  know — it's  no  laughing  matter."  We  admitted  that  it  was 
not,  and  he  then  revived  his  drooping  spirits  by  admiring  the  Fire 
Brigade.  "  By  Jove,  they're  fine !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  grand ! 
It's  grand!  I'd  have  given  something  to  be  there  to  see  it." 

"  We  didn't  enjoy  it  particularly.     I'm  sorry  you  weren't  there." 

"  By  Jove !  Ha — ha !  that's  not  bad !  But  you're  always  seveah 
on  me,  Juvence — you  really  are !  " 

"I  say,  Joe,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I'll  walk  over  with  you  when 
we've  had  some  lunch,  and  see  your  Father.  I  don't  like  the  ac- 
count of  him."  It  was  Beppino's  misfortune  to  rub  inartistic 
people  the  wrong  way?  and  he  had  done  so  in  this  instance.  We 
were  not  sorry  to  hear  that  if  he  did  not  run  at  once  he  would 
be  late  to  lunch  somewhere  else,  so  we  lauded  punctuality  and 
gave  him  a  cordial  send-off.  We  had  only  Aunt  Izzy  for  company. 

Before  we  started  for  Chelsea  it  transpired  that  our  communica- 
tions to  Aunt  Izzy  about  the  Fire  had  failed  to  reach  her  under- 
standing. She  had  conceived  them  to  relate  to  the  library  fire. 
Getting  it  out  had  become  letting  it  out,  and  the  blow-up  of  the 
gas  been  referred  to  the  bellows. 

These  errors  were  discovered  and  set  right  when  she  remarked 
that  she  didn't  think  it  "  ought  to  surprise  "  anybody ;  and  this  was 
traced  back  to  "  London  Water  Supplies."  As  soon  as  she  realized 
the  conflagration,  she  became  so  anxious  that  the  new  Apopempso- 
pyrotechnicon  Fire-Extinguisher  should  be  used  to  extinguish  it 
that  she  ignored  the  fact  that  it  was  out  already.  I  promised  to 
have  one  at  hand  next  time,  and  said  I  hoped  I  should  soon  have  an 
opportunity  of  testing  its  merits.  Aunt  Izzy  got  quite  cheerful  over 
this  prospect,  and  augured  great  success.  She  was  a  good-hearted 
old  lady,  but  wanted  to  have  her  finger  in  every  pie.  I  don't  think 
I've  remembered  the  apparatus  right,  but  it  doesn't  matter. 

The  Doctor  and  I  walked  over  to  Chelsea  talking  of  the  subject 
Beppino  had  interrupted.  The  fog  had  lifted  and  a  thaw  was 


JOSEPH  VANCE  343 

setting  in.  The  wind  was  thinking  of  coming  from  the  southwest, 
and  a  little  came  as  we  crossed  Clapham  Common.  When  a  sudden 
mild  fit  of  this  sort  comes  in  midwinter,  people  are  ungrateful  and 
call  it  unseasonable,  and  pretend  they  like  frost.  They  are  liars 
and  hypocrites,  as  they  enjoy  it  thoroughly.  We  did,  on  this  walk, 
but  we  paid  our  tribute  to  orthodox  views  nevertheless. 


CHAPTEE  XXXVII 

A    CONFERENCE    AND   A    GROWING    ALARM.      HOW    THE    WHISKEY-BOTTLE 
HAD  CAUSE  TO  CHUCKLE.      THE  CHEQUE-BOOKS  DID  IT,  OF  COURSE — 

WANTED  THIRTY-THOUSAND  POUNDS.      ALSO  HOW  A  BANK  SMASHED 

AND  HOW  A  BIG  BAD  DEBTOR  OWED  A  BIG  BAD  DEBT.      CHRISTOPHER 
VANCE  &  CO.  INSOLVENT. 

WE  arrived,  Dr.  Thorpe  and  I,  almost  at  the  same  moment  as 
Hickman  in  a  Hansom,  from  the  other  direction.  He  was  evi- 
dently appreciating  the  change,  but  he  too  paid  his  tribute  to 
public  opinion  and  said  it  was  unhealthy  and  relaxing  and  so 
forth.  Missis  was  out,  and  Mrs.  Christopher  was  out,  but  Mr. 
Vance  could  get  at  the  bell  quite  easy.  The  connection  of  ideas 
was  quite  clear  to  me.  I  hope  no  one  will  ever  be  puzzled  by  it. 

We  all  went  straight  up  to  my  Father's  room;  I  only  going  in 
first  cautiously  to  make  sure  he  was  awake.  He  was.  "  Who 
have  you  got  outside  ? "  he  asked.  "  Is  that  'Ickman  ?  " 

"  It's  Hickman,"  I  said.  "  And  it's  the  Doctor  come  to  have  a 
look  at  you.  Not  that  sort  of  Doctor,  Dad!  It's  Dr.  Thorpe." 

A  look  of  apprehension  vanished,  and  his  face  lighted  up  with 
pleasure.  "  There's  Doctors  and  Doctors,"  said  he  as  he  stretched 
out  a  hand  of  welcome.  "  You're  my  sort !  None  of  your  dam 
prescriptions!  Come  in,  'Ickman.  You  all  right?  See  you 
directly ! "  The  Doctor  said  don't  let  him  interrupt  business  and 
was  told  Hickman  would  do  any  time. 

"  This  is  a  bad  job,  Vance,"  said  he,  sitting  down. 

"  What  you  might  call  a  pretty  how-do-you-do,"  said  my  Father. 
"  But  Lord,  this  ain't  nothing !  Soon  shove  this  to  rights."  This 
seemed  to  assign  less  force  to  a  favourite  phrase  of  his  than  I  had 
always  ascribed  to  it.  Dr.  Thorpe  laughed,  and  said  he  was  glad 
it  wasn't  an  ugly  how-do-you-do. 

"  I  wouldn't  go  so  far,  for  one,"  said  my  Father.  "  Suppose  we 
say  an  unpleasant  circumstance,  and  let  it  go  at  that  ? "  This  was 
carried  nem.  con.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  this  here  sprained  ankle  I've 
got  in  my  back,  we  should  be  all  clear  for  a  start.  It's  what  they 
call  a  cash-you-ality — nowise  worse  than  that!  It  might  have 
been  a  smashuality,  hay,  Doctor  ? " 

344 


JOSEPH  VANCE  345 

"  That's  the  right  way  to  look  at  it,  Vance,  anyhow." 

"  Let's  ring  the  bell  for  tea,"  said  my  Father.  "  Tea  and  a  pipe ! 
That's  my  soothin'  mixture."  He  reached  for  the  bell-pull,  but 
the  sprained  ankle  was  too  predominant  in  his  back,  and  he  was 
glad  to  leave  the  bell-pulling  to  Dr.  Thorpe,  who  volunteered. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  latter,  "  you'll  soon  have  all  your  men  at 
work  again,  and  rebuilding  started." 

"  That's  just  the  advantageous  p'int,"  said  my  Father.  "  You 
ask  any  Architect  (that  is  an  Architect,  and  not  an  armatoor) 
which  is  the  best,  a  built  buildin'  or  a  rebuilt  buildin',  and  he'll 
speak  up  for  the  last.  Because  he'll  know  he's  been  detected  and 
convicted  of  a  thousand  blunders  in  the  first  building  that  he  could 
have  just  as  well  as  not  kept  off  of,  and  the  parties  won't  stand  'em 
a  second  time.  Excepting  he  has  a  'igh  feeling  of  professional 
dignity,  and  can't  be  lectured." 

"  And  what  do  you  do  with  him  then,  Vance  ? " 

"  Then  you  chucks  him,  or  dispenses  with  his  services.  If  by 
letter,  the  latter.  But  of  course  that's  'Ickman's  department.  He 
walks  into  'em  'ansum,  and  remains  their  obedient  servant  per  pro. 
Don't  you,  'Ickman?" 

"  Certainly,  Sir.  And  no  doubt  the  new  buildings  will  be  a 
great  improvement.  There's  nothing  like  experience.  But  the 
first  thing  will  be  to " 

But  Hickman  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the  tea,  and 
also  of  Janey  and  my  stepmother. 

"  Oh,  we're  not  fretting,  Dr.  Thorpe,"  said  my  wife,  in  response 
to  enquiry  and  expression  of  sympathy.  "  The  whole  thing  is 
covered  by  Insurance,  and  it's  merely  a  question  of  time.  Jack 
was  saying  he  knew  of  no  reason  why  they  shouldn't  start  next 
week." 

I  glanced  at  Hickman.  "  Oh  yes,  of  course,"  said  he,  "  no- 
reason  whatever!  At  least  none  that  I  know  of." 

Was  there  a  note  of  hesitation?  I  decided  that  there  was  none. 
It  was  only  that  I  was  fanciful.  After  all,  my  nerves  had  been 
very  much  shaken  in  these  three  last  days.  Janey  went  on  talking 
to  Dr.  Thorpe. 

"  Now,  wasn't  that  odd,  Doctor,  that  presentiment  your  daugh- 
ter in  India  had?  Of  course  it  was  a  long  time  before.  But 
then  they  all  say  that  time  doesn't  count." 

"Who  say?" 

"Well — the  proper  people.  I  don't  exactly  know  who  they 
are." 

"No  more  do  I.     Shall  I  pass  your  cup  for  some  more  tea, 


346  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Vance?"  My  Father  had  drunk  his  straight  off,  contrary  to 
precedent,  and  said  decidedly,  "  No,  thank  you — not  another  cup." 
The  two  ladies  looked  surprised,  and  Pheener  said,  "  Now,  think 
of  that." 

"  What  was  'Ickman  saying  just  now  ?  "  he  continued.  "  Yes — 
just  now — saying  to  the  Nipper  ? " 

"Hickman  said  nothing  to  me,  dear  Dad,  except  that  he  knew 
of  no  reason  why  the  rebuilding  shouldn't  begin  next  week." 

"  No  more  there  ain't  any  reason.  There's  some  'umbuggin* 
forms  to  be  what  they  call  complied  with  at  the  Insurance  Offices — 
but  that's  nothin'.  We  can  begin  to-morrow.  As  for  the  Offices, 
blest  if  I  know  what  the  forms  are!  You  show  'em  the  receipts, 
'Ickman — they'll  square  the  rest," 

"  I  understood,"  said  Hickman,  visibly  uncomfortable,  "  that  the 
receipts  were  with  you,  Mr.  Vance.  If  so,  they  are  no  doubt 
burned." 

"  And  pumpin'  on  'em  now,"  rejoined  my  Father,  "  would  only 
be  wastin'  good  water.  Nobody  wants  'em !  If  the  cash  had  been 
sent  'em  in  coppers,  they  could  put  their  'ands  in  their  pockets  and 
say  they  never  had  'em.  But  a  cheque's  a  cheque,  and  there  you 
are!" 

"Oh,  certainly,  Sir,"  said  Hickman.  "Your  recollection  of 
writing  the  cheques  would  be  quite  enough  in  practice.  Only 
when  one  makes  a  formal  claim  one  likes  to  have  the  documents." 

Dr.  Thorpe,  whose  voice  sounded  cheerful  and  reassuring  on  the 
top  of  a  sense  of  misgiving  that  had  crept  in,  remarked  on  the 
admirable  service  the  crossed  cheque  rendered  to  business  men. 
"  In  this  case,  you  see,"  said  he,  "  payment  of  cheque  makes  the 
whole  thing  secure  without  more  formality.  I'm  sure  we  needn't 
feel  uneasy,"  addressing  my  wife,  who  was  looking  blank  and  ap- 
prehensive. 

But  the  semi-tension,  that  had  come  into  the  conversation,  no 
one  could  say  exactly  when  or  how,  had  got  to  reassurance  point. 
It  was  like  pretending  a  toothache  isn't  coming.  It  showed  in 
my  Father's  raised  voice  when  he  next  spoke. 

"  All  I  know  is,"  said  he,  "  that  I  wrote  the  cheque  for  all  three 
Offices,  and  if  they  haven't  sent  the  receipts  it's  their  lookout ! " 
He  said  it  quite  easily  and  confidently.  "  Besides,  if  they  didn't 
receive  'em,  how  could  they  cash  'em?  You  look  in  the  Pass-book 
— in  the  pigeonhole  of  that  table.  We've  got  to  overhaul  that 
table,  Nipper." 

The  Pass-book  was  got  out  and  searched.  No  such  cheques 
were  entered.  My  Father  gave  a  short  low  whistle,  but  did  not 


JOSEPH  VANCE  347 

lose  his  head.  "You  look  again,"  said  he.  "You'll  find  'em! 
All  the  cheques  are  in  order  in  the  second  drcr*  on  the  right.  I 
put  'em  to  their  numbers  myself  and  none  was  missin'.  You  'unt 
in  my  pocket  for  the  keys." 

Hickman,  whose  voice  showed  his  alarm  plainly,  began  speaking. 
"You  shut  up  a  minute,  'Ickman,"  said  my  Father.  "Let's  have 
them  keys."  And  the  keys  were  found,  and  the  presented  cheques, 
all  in  order — but  no  Insurance  cheques! 

The  suspense  was  trying.  "  What  was  Mr.  Hickman  going  to 
say  just  now  ? "  asked  Dr.  Thorpe, 

"  I  was  saying,  Sir,"  said  Hickman,  who  may  have  been  a  little 
hurt  at  being  shut  up,  "  that  probably  Mr.  Vance  would  remember 
there  was  a  delay  in  payment.  The  last  day  of  grace  had  passed — 
that  was  October  the  fourteenth — and  two  of  the  offices  wrote  to 
ask  if  you  wished  to  discontinue,  and  a  gentleman  called  from  the 
Globe  to  see  if  it  was  an  oversight.  And  when  I  told  you,  you 
said  you  would  send  at  once." 

"  Then  it's  all  a  fuss  about  nothin',"  said  my  Father.  "  I  wrote 
the  cheques  in  the  big  cheque-book  at  the  Orfice.  You  wrote  'em 
and  I  signed  'em." 

"  No,  Sir,  no,"  said  Hickman,  who  had  become  quite  tremulous. 
"  If  you  remember  that  book  had  been  written  full  up  for  you  to 
sign,  and  it  was  too  late  then  for  you  to  get  another.  It  was  six 
o'clock.  And  your  cheque-book  you  carry  was  just  used  up  too! 
We  noticed  the  coincidence.  I  wanted  you  to  make  the  drafts  on 
office  paper  and  not  wait  for  a  cheque-book,  but  you  said  you 
would  be  sure  to  recollect." 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  said  my  Father.  "  I  remember  something  about 
that."  Hickman  had  a  gleam  of  hope.  He  went  on  speaking. 

"You'll  remember  too,  Sir,  remarking  that  you  had  two  new 
cheque-books  in  the  desk  at  home  and  you'd  post  them  off  that 
evening.  I  knew  the  money  would  be  accepted  really  any  time 
as  long  as  the  place  wasn't  burned — and  I  asked  you  and  you 
said  you  had  sent  it — and  of  course  I  thought  you  had  the  re- 
ceipts." 

I  had  seen  Pheener's  hand  catching  convulsively  on  the  arm  of 
the  chair  she  sat  in.  As  Hickman  finished  she  gave  a  cry. 

"Oh,  Master,  Master!  It  was  that  book  the  bottle  was  spilt 
on!" 

"  Perhaps,"  I  struck  in — a  light  breaking  on  me,  "  you  spilt  ink 
over  the  cheques,  and  meant  to  write  them  again  and  forgot  it. 
You  say,  Dad,  you  remember  actually  writing  the  cheques  ? " 

"Ac-tu-ally  writin'  of  'em,  Nipper  dear!     And  putting  of  'em 


348  JOSEPH  VANCE 

in  envelopes,  and  lickin'  of  'em  to,  and  putting  on  the  di-rections. 
Quite  like  ;Ickman.  I  can't  say  I  remember  forgetting  to  post 
'em,  but  then  some  one  else  may  have  forgotten.  Only  Miss 
Dowdeswell  didn't  say  I  spilt  the  ink.  Speak  up,  little  Clementina, 
and  say  what  it  was  I  spilt ! " 

"  Oh,  Master !  You  know  it  was  the  Whiskey.  And  you  said 
what  a  good  job  it  was  there  was  so  little  left  in  the  bottle !  And 
then  you  finished  what  little  was  left.  But  I  do  remember  the 
cheques  were  all  written  by  then,  and  safe  in  the  envelopes.  I 
don't  know  where  you  put  them — I  went  away  to  bed." 

"  You  see,  Nipper  dear,"  said  he,  turning  to  me  with  a  ridiculous 
mixed  expression  of  contrition  and  candour,  "you  see  what  it 
was?  It  was  my  intemperate  'abits.  Your  Daddy  was  in  a  state 
of  beastly  intoxication.  Entirely  doo  to  his  'abits!  I'd  wrote  the 
cheques  though ! " 

"  Come,  Vance,"  said  Dr.  Thorpe,  "  you  can't  have  been  so 
very  bad,  or  you  couldn't  have  written  them." 

"  If  I'd  only  drunk  a  little  more  the  bottle  wouldn't  have  slopped 
over  and  spoiled  that  cheque-book.  I  remember  it  now.  Fifty  to 
order  and  three  wrote.  Three  and  eleven  pence.  What's  Mrs. 
Nipper  grubbed  out  of  the  desk  'ole  ? " 

"  What  on  earth  are  these  ? "  cried  Janey  at  this  moment.  She 
had  been  fishing  about  in  the  pigeonholes  of  the  desk-table. 
"  Three  letters  and  all  directed  to  Fire  Insurance  Offices ! "  And 
turned  as  white  as  a  sheet. 

It  was  too  true!  And  the  explanation,  so  far  as  the  unposted 
letters  went,  was  easy.  My  Father  had  put  them  in  a  safe  place, 
so  as  to  be  sure  not  to  forget  them.  Which  of  us  has  not  done  this, 
even  in  our  lowest  stages  of  intoxication?  But  I  almost  wished 
the  letters  had  perished  in  the  fire — it  would  have  taken  so 
much  blame  off  my  Father's  shoulders.  It  would  not  have 
mattered  if  we  had  never  known  how  the  non-payment  escaped 
detection. 

What  had  exactly  happened  was  this.  My  Father,  as  he  was 
consuming  rather  more  than  his  allowance  of  whiskey  after  dinner, 
on  the  day  of  the  occurrence  described  by  Hickman,  had  got  out 
the  two  new  cheque-books  mentioned  and  baptized  one  of  them 
(so  he  said)  with  three  premiums  payable  to  the  three  offices. 
Having  done  so,  he  unfortunately  baptized  it  still  further  by  spill- 
ing the  whiskey-bottle  over  it.  Now  whiskey  on  certain  paper 
produces  a  fine  purple  stain,  and  my  Father  noticed  the  splendour 
of  the  tint;  and  inferring  that  any  one  who  got  a  cheque  so 
stained  would  ascribe  Bacchus  to  the  drawer,  had  put  this  cheque- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  349 

book  aside  to  reclaim  the  price  of  the  stamps  if  ever  he  should 
withdraw  his  account.  We  found  it  in  a  drawer  of  the  table. 
Having  done  this  he  inaugurated  his  other  cheque-book,  which  was 
intact,  and  by  the  time  he  had  his  pass-book  again  had  forgotten 
all  about  it.  He  satisfied  himself  that  all  his  cheques  had  been 
presented  by  putting  them  in  order,  without  examining  the  pass- 
book. "  Where's  the  good,"  he  said  afterwards,  "  when  the  entries 
are  all  eligible?"  And  he  showed  me  an  illegible  entry  in  proof. 
It  was  (as  near  as  I  recollect)  "  Dry — £40.  0.  0  "  and  was  supposed 
to  commemorate  a  payment  of  forty  pounds  to  Eebekah  and  John 
Zimmerman,  Dry-salters!  With  respect  to  the  other  point,  the 
way  the  non-appearance  of  the  receipts  was  acquiesced  in,  it  was 
clear  that  the  Works  had  imputed  them  to  the  Office,  and  vice 
versa.  Hickman  had  supposed  my  Father  had  got  them.  And  he, 
not  receiving  them,  naturally  inferred  they  had  been  sent  to 
Jobchurch  Lane,  which  was  his  usual  designation  of  the  town 
offices. 

To  complete  this  part  of  the  story  now.  Some  attempt  was 
made  to  get  a  concession  from  the  Fire  Offices  on  the  ground  that 
the  written  cheques  were  actually  an  instruction  to  Vance  &  Co.'s 
bankers  to  pay  the  premiums,  and  that  the  position  was  virtually 
the  same  as  if  the  cheques  had  been  posted  and  had  not  reached. 
In  such  a  case  I  believe  most  offices  would  have  treated  the  pay- 
ment as  effected.  But  the  legal  advisers  in  our  case  pointed  out 
that  there  was  nothing  but  my  Father's  word  to  show  that  these 
cheques  were  not  written  after  the  fire  broke  out!  If  such  a 
precedent  were  created,  said  they,  it  would  invalidate  the  whole 
principle  of  Insurance,  of  which  the  essence  is  that  the  Policy- 
holder  shall  risk  the  loss  of  his  premium;  which  Vance  &  Co.  had 
certainly  not  done  while  the  cheques  remained  in  their  possession. 
Even  then  I  believe  one  or  two  of  the  Directors  were  in  favour  of 
sending  my  Father  the  cash  (a  mere  trifle  of  £30,000  or  so) ;  partly 
because  of  the  glory  of  such  action  to  the  Offices,  and  partly  be- 
cause Vance  &  Co.  was  alleged  to  have  been  drunk — chiefly  the 
latter. 

Some  one  thing  (I  have  said  this  before  somewhere)  always 
starts  out  clear  in  one's  memory,  and  throws  its  kin  into  the  back- 
ground. This  time  it  is  Dr.  Thorpe's  eyes,  as  I  part  from  him 
at  the  gate — full  of  sympathy,  and  so  like  Lossie's.  "  It's  not  the 
money,  Doctor,"  I  say  to  him.  "That's  bad— but  it's  not  that." 
And  he  replies,  "  I  know,  dear  Joe !  7  see.  But  keep  a  good  heart, 
and  leave  it  in  God's  hands."  And  he  walks  away  into  the  thaw, 
by  this  time  in  full  swing. 


350  JOSEPH  VANCE 

And  then  I  go  up  to  the  drawing-room  and  find  Janey.  And  I 
am  in  time  for  her  to  cry  upon,  just  as  the  relief  of  tears  comes. 
And  she  says,  "  Oh !  Jack,  Jack — your  poor  old  Daddy !  And 
he  is  so  sorry.  It  makes  one  cry  to  see  him."  And  she  has  a  good 
cry,  and  is  the  better  for  it.  And  then  as  she  comes  back  to  dry 
land  out  of  a  sea  of  tears,  she  says,  "  But  wasn't  it  strange,  Jack  ?  " 
I  ask  what,  and  she  says  what  Lossie  Desprez  wrote  in  her  letter, 
and  that  it  must  have  been  just  when  the  cheque-muddle  came  off. 
And  I  say  coincidence,  and  all  the  proper  things,  and  we  go  up- 
stairs together  to  get  and  give  consolation.  And  then  Bony  comes 
in  and  has  to  be  overwhelmed  in  his  turn. 

It  need  not  be  supposed  that  an  annulled  Insurance,  or  rather  a 
neglected  one,  was  the  cause  of  the  Insolvency  of  Christopher 
Vance  &  Co.  It  was  a  contributary  cause  doubtless,  and  if  it  had 
not  existed,  very  likely  Vance  &  Co.  would  have  tided  over  the  other 
difficulties  that  came  upon  them.  For  misfortunes  never  come 
singly,  and  scarcely  was  the  reconstruction  of  the  burnt  Work- 
shops put  in  hand  than  another  calamity  followed.  The  draft  on 
the  Surburban  and  Metropolitan  Joint-Stock  Bank,  which  provided 
the  first  weekly  screw  of  the  workmen  on  the  job,  was  the  last 
cheque  cashed  across  the  counter  of  the  Clapham  and  West  Brixton 
Branch  of  that  great  and  prosperous  concern.  Next  day's  morn- 
ing papers  announced  its  suspension,  and  in  a  few  weeks  any  one 
who  was  of  a  sanguine  disposition  was  at  liberty  to  believe  that  its 
assets  exceeded  Golconda,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  incredulity 
itself  was  silent  when  its  liabilities  were  quoted  at  very  little  less. 
One  of  the  causes  of  failure  was  ascribed  by  the  Co.  to  its  in- 
ability to  withstand  the  temptation  to  make  advances,  though  it 
could  not  exonerate  the  other  parties.  Like  Browning's  young 
man,  whom  the  young  lady  never  should  have  looked  at  so,  had  she 
meant  he  should  not  love  her,  the  Bank  complained  that  the 
numerous  Firms  to  which  it  had  lent  money,  »r  allowed  to  over- 
draw, never  should  have  misled  them  by  depositing  such  seeming 
valuable  securities,  which  turned  out  worthless.  Among  the 
overdrawers,  C.  Vance  &  Co.  was  a  conspicuous  instance,  figuring 
for  a  good  round  sum  among  the  Debtors.  But,  to  do  my  Father 
justice,  his  Firm  had  never  made  eyes  at  the  Bank,  or  any  Bank. 
It  was  merely  that  no  one  ever  dreamed  of  questioning  his 
Solvency.  But  now  the  luck  had  turned,  and  myriads  of  persons, 
it  seemed,  had  said  so  all  along. 

Even  if  the  Bank  had  been  able,  by  a  great  effort  of  imagination, 
to  realize  its  assets,  Vance  &  Co.  would  have  been  none  the  better, 


JOSEPH  VANCE  351 

as  at  least  the  account  would  have  had  to  be  balanced,  before  new 
overdraws  could  be  indulged  in.  But  the  worst  was  to  come.  My 
Father  had  undertaken,  as  a  sub-contract  from  an  eminent  firm 
of  Railway  Contractors,  the  construction  of  a  great  Hotel  at  a 
Terminus.  It  was  to  be  paid  for  when  completed,  at  the  opening 
of  the  Railway.  But  everything,  as  my  Father  said,  went  con- 
trairy.  The  building-site  proved  to  be  a  spongy  morass,  which 
had  indurated  itself  spitefully  at  all  the  points  which  were  tested, 
and  which  had  to  be  turned  into  a  huge  block  of  concrete  before  a 
footing  could  be  laid.  This  cost  within  ten  thousand  pounds  of 
the  contract  sum.  Nevertheless,  the  whole  thing  was  completed  in 
spite  of  difficulties,  and  payment  was  due,  when  crash  went  the 
great  Contractors! 

There  is  no  better  investment  now,  in  this  last  year  but  four  of 
the  century,  than  shares  in  that  Railway,  if  you  can  get  them! 
Many  a  prosperous  family  has  been  reared  and  educated  on  them, 
many  a  luxurious  country-house  built.  Quotation  of  them  at  a 
premium  has  become  a  mechanical  habit  with  Brokers,  who  mostly 
believe  that  if  they  fell  the  sky  would.  But  the  men  who  fought 
with  unexpected  torrents  in  the  tunnels,  with  malignant  hillsides 
that  waited  for  passing  trains  and  then  developed  as  landslips, 
with  huge  seas  that  came  in  the  night  and  swept  away  Cyclopean 
walls  as  Betsy  Austin  sweeps  away  the  crumbs — these  men  died  in 
poverty  or  small  prosperity,  or  lived,  some  of  them,  to  furnish 
illustrations  of  the  advantages  of  marriage  settlements,  and  of 
their  own  wicked  improvidence,  from  the  consequences  of  which 
the  greater  foresight  of  everybody  else  had  saved  them.  For  those 
who  fail  get  scant  quarter  from  those  who  never  try,  and  those 
who  see  no  farther  than  the  stock-market  know  of  no  success  out- 
side the  Balance-Sheet. 

My  Father  got  a  good  deal  of  public  absolution.  For,  though 
the  Bankrupt  did  not  ascribe  any  of  his  failure  to  that  whiskey- 
bottle  that  I  saw  chuckling  in  triumph  over  the  ruin  of  his  home, 
yet  it  leaked  out,  through  the  men,  that  Christopher  had  undenia- 
bly been  concerned,  on  the  day  of  the  fire,  in  liquor,  and  that  he 
was  liable  at  other  times  to  be  concerned  in  other  liquor.  And 
nobody  could  deny  that  he  was  a  jolly  good  fellow.  So,  even  as  the 
rank  and  file  of  an  army  that  has  been  led  to  slaughter  by  a  tipsy 
General  forgives  him  with  its  dying  breath,  so  the  workman  whose 
employment  was  gone  spoke  leniently  of  my  poor  old  Dad;  and 
forgiveness  got  into  the  atmosphere,  and  excuse-making  was  the 
rule  and  censure  the  exception.  But  his  blame  of  himself  and  his 
weight  of  sadness  were  pitiful  to  see,  as  he  lay  helpless  on  his 


352  JOSEPH  VANCE 

back,  the  victim  a  second  time  of  the  same  injury,  and  a  second 
time  being  forcibly  weaned  from  his  old  bad  habit. 

That  was  my  consolation,  and,  though  none  of  us  ever  by  any 
chance  spoke  about  it,  our  consolation.  Each  knew  what  the 
others  thought. 

I  go  on  to  a  time — it  was  well  on  in  the  late  summer — when  all 
the  business  matters  were  wound  up,  not  unsatisfactorily  on  the 
whole.  In  winding  up  a  concern  of  this  sort,  the  final  settlement 
turns  on  the  common  interest  of  the  creditors,  and  in  this  case 
there  was  no  doubt  about  the  interest  common  to  all,  namely  the 
success  of  Vance  &  Macallister,  who  figured  as  debtors  to  Christo- 
pher Vance  &  Co.  But  the  terms  of  their  building  contract  had 
been  cash  payment  on  completion.  Bony  and  I  were  therefore 
able  to  demand  completion,  and  the  Firm,  now  represented  by  its 
Creditors  and  an  Official  Eeceiver,  carried  out  the  building  as  per 
contract.  Easy  terms  of  payment  were  granted,  the  good-will  of 
the  business  being  accepted  as  a  sufficient  security ;  and  a  friendly 
mortgage  of  the  buildings  started  us  on  our  way,  and  though  some- 
what handicapped  we  could  fairly  look  forward  to  prosperity.  I 
feel  this  is  all  prolix,  but  when  no  one  reads,  an  author  may  be  as 
prolix  as  he  likes. 


CHAPTEK  XXXVIII 

JOE?S  FATHER  DOES  NOT  IMPROVE  MUCH.  BUT  HE  IS  HIS  OLD  SELF 
STILL,  AND  ENJOYS  A  SURPRISE  HE  HAS  TREASURED  FOR  HIS  FAMILY. 
HOW  HE  HAD  BOUGHT  A  TRINKET  IN  BOND  STREET.  THE  NEW 
LIMITED  CO.  IT  STARTS  ILL;  BUT  GOOD  FORTUNE  BRINGS  BACK  AN 
OLD  BOARD  TO  HELP  THE  BOARD  OF  DIRECTORS. 

MY  memory,  then,  travels  on  satisfied  to  late  in  an  evening  in 
August,  1870,  when  I  was  sitting  with  my  Father  in  the  drawing- 
room  at  Chelsea,  looking  out  at  the  moonlight  on  the  river.  For 
great  ingenuities  had  provided  ways  to  move  and  carry  him  with- 
out pain.  "  Progress,"  said  his  enemy,  the  Medical  Man,  "  was 
slow  but  sure."  "  Then  why  don't  he  get  out  o'  the  way,"  said  the 
patient,  "  and  let  me  get  ahead  a  little  quicker  ? "  An  eminent 
surgeon  had  examined  him,  but  said  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
patience.  "No,  Mr.  Vance,"  said  he  to  me  as  we  parted  at  the 
street  door.  "  I  can't  take  a  fee  for  telling  a  man  to  lie  on  his 
back.  You  take  an  interest  in  bullets,  of  course?  I'm  just  going 
to  take  one  out  of  a  man.  Too  old-fashioned  a  one  for  you  to 
care  about.  It's  been  thirty  years  in  his  carcase !  "  And  ran  away 
to  avoid  my  thanks. 

"  How  long  was  I  getting  round,  that  time,  Joey  ? "  said  my 
Father  to  me  on  this  evening.  "  That  time  after  poor  Peter  Gunn 
got  the  glass  in  his  eye." 

You  mustn't  suppose  these  words  brought  that  event  back  to  me 
then  nearly  as  clearly  as  it  does  to  you  now.  You  have,  I  presume, 
recently  read  it.  I  remember  it  vividly  now,  fifty  years  after! 
It  was  rather  hazy  after  twenty. 

"  I  think  Mother  said  two  months,"  said  I.  "  All  I  recollect  is 
that  day  you  came  out  in  front  and  we  talked  to  the  little  man  with 
the  board." 

"  Just  such  another  day  as  this  has  been !  More  by  token  it  was 
the  Nipper's  birthday!  What's  to-day,  Joe?" 

"  Nineteenth.  I  say,  Janey,  yesterday  was  my  birthday  and  we 
forgot  it!"  Janey  was  writing  a  letter  within  calling  distance. 
"Many  happy  returns,"  said  she,  "but  to-day's  the  eighteenth." 

358 


354  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  "  it's  to-day !  "  And  Janey  came  in  and  gave 
me  a  kiss,  for  confirmation,  and  went  back  to  her  writing. 

"  I  remember,"  said  I.  "  You  gave  me  a  top  to  play  Peg-in-the- 
Eing  with  Porky." 

"  And  your  Mother  a  pair  o'  storkins,"  said  he.  "  Your  feet  are 
larger  now  than  they  was  in  them  days,  Joey." 

"  Who  did  you  say  you  played  Peg-in-the-Ring  with  ? "  inter- 
mitted Janey  from  afar,  without  stopping  writing. 

"  Porky  Owls,"  answered  I.  And  Janey  said  "  What  a  name !  " 
and  soaked  back  into  her  letter. 

"  Well,  Joey,"  said  my  Father,  resuming.  "  It  was  two  months, 
anyhow — maybe  a  bit  more!  And  how  long  have  we  been  goiii' 
on  over  this  job  ?  'Tain't  a  twelvemonth  yet,  if  we  speak  the  truth." 
He  had  evidently  begun  his  comparisons  of  the  two  nursings 
hoping  for  better  results,  but  was  not  going  to  acknowledge  defeat. 
It  was  discouraging  to  think  how  long  he  had  been  on  his  back. 

"  Can't  be  helped,  Nipper,  can  it  ? "  He  effaced  the  unpleasant 
view  of  the  case,  and  took  a  more  cheerful  one.  "  One  good  thing, 
at  any  late — it's  out  of  the  question  gratify  in7  oners  unfortunate 
propensities.  Or  if  it  ain't  out  of  the  question  it's  out  of  the 
answer,  when  one's  domestic  circle  grabs  the  bottles  and  bolts." 

"  Never  mind,  Dad  I  It's  my  birthday  to-day,  so  you  shall  have 
extra  toddy."  And  I  promised  to  compound  a  nightcap  secundum 
artem — feeling  rather  as  if  I  was  compounding  a  felony.  I  felt 
guilty  and  apologized  to  Mrs.  Christopher,  who  appeared  at  this 
moment.  "It's  your  lookout,  M'Joseph,"  said  she.  "  I  wash  my 
hands."  Her  difficulties  in  addressing  me  often  ended  as  if  I 
were  a  Basuto.  "  Comes  of  her  having  been  a  young  gal,"  was 
my  Dad's  explanation.  It  is  intelligible  to  me — perhaps  to  you 
also? 

Bony  and  Jeannie  often  looked  in  late,  and  did  so  now.  They 
had  been  out  dissipating,  and  Jeannie  looked  like  a  Titian  portrait 
of  a  grand  duchess.  Janey  arranged  her  beautifully  for  us  to 
look  at,  with  the  full  moon  over  the  river  behind  her.  She  was  a 
glorious  spectacle  sitting  there  in  the  clash  of  the  moonlight  and 
lamplight.  "  Not  bad !  "  said  her  husband,  in  the  tone  of  a  satis- 
fied proprietor  of  a  travelling  circus.  We  settled  down  to  a 
general  chat  over  things,  telling  Jeannie  she  might  move  now  if 
she  liked.  And  Janey  said  we  might  talk  business,  if  we  wanted 
to,  and  of  course  we  immediately  did  so. 

"Well,  Bony,"  said  I.     "It's  really  all  done  now!" 

"Are  you  sure?"  said  he.  "It's  been  really  all  done  at  least 
three  times  in  the  last  three  months  I " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  355 

"Anyhow,  I  can  see  the  Bankrupt's  certificate  sticking  out  of 
his  pocket,"  said  I.  And  my  Father,  perceiving  that  this  was  the 
case,  buttoned  it  in.  It  had  been  a  great  satisfaction  to  him  to 
read  it  at  intervals,  and  it  seemed  not  improbable  that  he  would 
always  retain  it  in  his  pocket.  He  had  been  greatly  pleased  to 
know  that  he  had  made  a  full  discovery  of  his  estate  and  effects. 
I  think  he  felt  like  Christopher  Columbus,  or  Cortez. 

"  Now  are  you  quite  sure  you  haven't  concealed  property  to  the 
amount  of  ten  pounds  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Quite  sure,"  he  answered.  "  The  property  I  concealed  was  a 
considerably  bigger  amount  than  ten  pounds.  Besides,  it  wasn't 
my  property,  it  was  Miss  Dowdeswell's." 

We  all  stared  at  him  and  each  other.     He  continued. 

"  They  never  asked  me  if  I  had  concealed  any  one  else's 
property." 

"  What  are  you  driving  at,  Daddy  dear  ? " 

"You  get  Miss  Dowdeswell  to  show  you  that  fancy  article  I 
gave  her  afore  ever  she  suggested  Matrimony.  You  tell  truth  and 
shame  the  Devil,  Mrs.  V.  Cut  upstairs  and  fetch  it  down.  I 
should  like  to  see  some  of  you  gals  try  it  on." 

It  dawned  upon  me  that  he  was  referring  to  the  parcel  he  had 
given  his  wife  when  I  brought  it  from  the  burning  house.  It  had 
slipped  my  memory  in  all  the  confusion  and  anxiety,  and  it  was 
now  eight  months  ago.  I  made  a  remark  to  this  effect,  and  he 
said,  "  Yes — it  was  that  parcel  I  had  the  Optical  Delusion  about." 
His  wife  returned  with  it,  and  handed  it  to  him, 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Christopher  Vance,  as  I  said  before,  you  tell  truth 
and  shame  the  Devil.  How  did  you  come  by  this  here  parcel  ? " 

"  You  gave  it  me,  dear,  at  the  fire — in  Slack's  front  parlour." 

"  And  how  did  I  come  by  it  ? " 

His  wife  reflected,  and  said,  "Why— I  suppose— I  gave  it  to 
you  to  take  care  of,  after  you  gave  it  to  me  the  first  time." 

"  Of  your  own  free  will  ? " 

"Yes.  Because  you  said,  'You  do  as  I  tell  you,  little  Clem- 
entina, and  give  me  back  that  parcel  of  your  own  free  will,  for 
me  to  take  care  of  for  you.'  So  I  gave  it  you  of  my  own  free 
will." 

"  Good  girl !  If  you'd  given  it  me  under  compulsion  it  would 
have  spiled  the  performance." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  my  Father  undid  the 
parcel.  All  our  eyes  were  fixed  on  it.  Out  of  cotton-wool  came 
an  inner  parcel  of  pink  tissue  paper,  and  out  of  that  a  casket  of 
red  morocco  leather. 


356  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  That's  all  right !  "  said  he.  "  Suppose  now  we  put  it  away  to 
be  safe."  But  a  chorus  of  indignant  exclamation  followed.  "  It's 
your  property,  Mrs.  Christopher,"  said  Bony.  "  You  take  it  from 
him."  And  she  did  so.  And  opened  it. 

As  I  sit  here  writing  this,  much  disturbed  because  Upstairs  is 
moving  out  to-day,  and  a  sort  of  beery  persons  who  come  out  of 
the  rain  and  smell  damp  and  stuffy  are  hoarsely  percolating  through 
the  house,  engaged  in  the  removal  of  Upstairs'  furniture,  and  a 
wardrobe  (which  gives  the  impression  of  being  also  a  wardbugs) 
is  giving  a  practical  illustration  of  the  maxim  that  wot's  been  got 
in  can  be  got  out,  and  she'll  come  if  you  keep  her  round  easy. 
You  don't,  it  seems,  for  she  comes  with  a  smash  against  my  door. 
But  she  is  got  out,  with  one  of  her  four  feet  off,  and  she  dies 
away  into  a  van  in  a  drizzle,  and  her  foot  is  carried  down  after  and 
stuffed  inside  her. 

What  were  the  memories  this  accursed  and  useless  article  of 
furniture  interrupted?  A  memory  of  a  flood  of  reflected  light 
from  a  jewel-cluster  in  the  satin  lining  of  a  leather  box,  a  minia- 
ture constellation  of  a  thousand  reflected  moons  and  a  thousand 
reflected  lamps.  A  memory  of  the  cry  of  joy  of  the  voices  I  knew 
so  well,  so  many  years  ago.  A  cry  of  sheer  joy  at  the  splendour. 
A  memory  of  my  Father  rolling  about  with  laughter  at  the  great 
surprise,  till  he  hurt  himself,  and  had  to  stop. 

I  shall  pick  up  the  thread  of  my  narrative  now,  provided  always 
that  Upstairs  subsides.  I  think  I  hear  those  beery  ones  in  the 
street  spreading,  if  not  their  sheeny  van  for  flight,  at  any  rate 
their  sheeny  tarpaulins  over  it.  ...  Yes!  And  the  carman  has 
said  wup  to  awaken  the  horse  from  his  reverie,  and  they  are 
off! 

"  Stick  it  on  your  head,  Miss  Dowdeswell,"  said  my  Father. 
"You  won't  know  yourself,  you'll  look  such  a  beauty." 

"  There  now,"  said  Jeannie,  "  that's  just  the  way  you  men  talk 
about  your  wives." 

"Nobody  else  has  any  wives,  or  they  might  talk  about  'em 
sim'lar,"  said  he.  "  You  give  her  a  lift,  Mrs.  Nipper.  She  ain't 
a  dab!" 

And  after  Mrs.  Christopher  had  tried  it  on,  Mrs.  Nipper  did. 
But  these  were  really  only  civilities,  the  public  anxiety  to  see  it  on 
Mrs.  Macallister  being  ill-concealed.  The  result,  when  it  came, 
was  stupendous,  and  the  wearer  kept  it  on,  with  a  not  unmixed 
philanthropy. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  35S 

"  They  can't  be  real,  of  course,"  said  Janey. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  my  Father,  placidly.  "  Just  a  lot  o'  bits, 
of  stinkin'  glass."  But  this  statement  immediately  aroused 
suspicion. 

"  Then  some  of  them  are — really  real !  "  said  Janey.  Solely  be- 
cause of  the  statement  that  none  of  them  were  so!  "Why,  they 
may  be  worth  hundreds!  What's  that  big  one  in  the  middle 
worth?" 

"  Couldn't  say.  But  they're  worth  more  than  ten  pounds,  all 
told.  So  the  Lord  Chancellor  can  keep  his  hair  on." 

"  They  must  be  worth  a  good  deal,  Mr.  V.,"  said  his  wife. 
"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  sell  'em  and  have  the  money  ?  It  would 
be  something,  anyhow — and  we  could  pay  our  fair  share  of  the 
bills  then,  perhaps." 

"  How  much  should  you  take  it  they  might  be  worth  ?  "  asked  my 
Father  with  the  air  of  one  who  could  be  persuaded  to  part  with  it 
if  a  twenty-pound  purchaser  could  be  found. 

We  guessed  that  amount,  some  of  us,  and  our  guess  was  dis- 
allowed. We  guessed  double  with  the  same  result.  We  knocked 
off  a  third,  and  then  my  Father  said  we  were  getting  colder.  Then 
we  doubled  again.  Same  result.  Then  again.  And  so  on  till  the 
guess  was  two  thousand  five  hundred  and  odd!  Then  in  order  to- 
put  an  end  to  the  possibility  of  another  rebuff,  I  exclaimed,  "  Come 
now,  Daddy !  I'll  do  it  this  time.  Ten  thousand  pounds !  " 

"  Very  likely  you're  right,  Nipper,"  said  my  Father,  meekly. 
"  Like  enough  they're  only  worth  that.  Always  been  bein'  takin  in, 
all  my  life,  I  have!  But  I  gave  fifteen  thousand.  You  needn't 
look  so  scared.  I  haven't  cheated  the  Lord  Chancellor  out  of  two- 
pence." 

I  suppose  we  continued  looking  uneasy,  for  he  went  on  in  a 
more  serious  tone  of  voice. 

"  They  didn't  belong  to  me — they  belonged  to  Miss  Dowdeswell. 
She  hadn't  so  much  as  mentioned  matrimony  at  that  time,  much 
less  committed  of  it.  You  see  this  was  just  how  it  happened.  I 
was  passing  by  a  Jeweller's  shop,  in  Bond  Street,  and  I  saw  some 
pretty  things  in  the  window,  priced  various  at  so  much — two  hun- 
dred this,  two  hundred  that — and  I  went  to  look  at  'em.  And  on 
my  remarkin'  they  went  to  a  pretty  penny  for  Shop-window  goods, 
the  shopman  says  they  don't  count  them  expensive,  and  he  shows 
me  two  or  three  that  ran  to  more.  This  was  one.  They  was  askin' 
fifteen  thousand  eight  'underd.  And  I  told  'em  I'd  fifteen  thou- 
sand in  my  pocket  and  if  they  were  agreeable  we'd  deal  at  thatr 
So  I  brought  it  a  way.  and  put  it  in  my  shavin'  drawer." 


358  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  But  how  on  earth,"  said  I,  "  did  you  come  to  have  fifteen  thou- 
sand in  your  pocket  ? " 

"It  was  a  cheque  Margosian  &  Mavropoulos  had  just  paid  me 
for  that  new  block  of  offices  we  rebuilt  in  the  City — all  the  cash 
in  a  lump.  And  I  was  in  funds  at  the  time,  and  it  seemed  a  good 
investment.  I  asked  'em  not  to  put  lien  hen  upon  it.  So  it  was  as 
good  as  a  Bank  of  England  note.  I  wrote  across  the  back  in  the 
shop  and  they  wrote  a  receipt.  There  it  is,  tumbled  out  of  the 
parcel !  Let's  have  hold  of  it !  "  I  passed  it  to  him,  and  he  lit  a 
pipe  with  it. 

"  Well,  now,  Pheener,"  said  Janey,  "  you're  quite  a  rich  woman 
—isn't  it  nice?" 

t(  It  isn't  mine !  That's  only  Mr.  V7s  nonsense.  Of  course  it's 
just  as  much  his  as  ever." 

"Don't  you  go  sayin'  that  in  the  hearin'  of  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lor," said  my  Father.  "  He'll  ree-scind  the  certificate,  and  make 
use  of  it  to  square  off  that  odd  four  shillins  in  the  pound.  Besides 
sendin'  me  to  prison  for  concealing  valuable  assets.  It  '11  bring 
you  in  a  nice  little  penny,  and  you'll  be  able  to  afford  your 
elderly  encumbrance  a  trifle  of  barker.  Dear — dear!  What  a 
many  times  I've  said  to  myself  that  we  need  never  go  to  the 

work'us  as  long  as  we'd  got  the  Tiarrhoea Well!  You  may 

laugh  as  much  as  you  like — but  that's  what  the  shopman  called 
it— a  Tiarrhoea!" 

I  remember  all  the  above  scene,  with  perfect  clearness.  Then 
follows  a  hazy  period  in  which  I  recollect  facts,  without  images 
or  visible  incident  to  confirm  them.  The  fact,  for  instance,  that 
most  of  the  creditors  of  C.  Vance  &  Co.  became  shareholders  in  0. 
Vance  &  Co.  Ltd.,  Managing  Director,  Mr.  William  Hickman, 
Also  that  my  Father  bought  shares  therein  in  his  wife's  name  with 
a  good  deal,  I  forget  how  much,  of  the  eighteen  thousand  pounds 
for  which  he  sold  the  tiara  to  the  Duchess  of  Playbridge,  whose 
second  husband  (I  can't  remember  his  name)  negotiated  the  sale 
and  accepted  a  commission  of  ten  per  cent,  and  lost  it  all  next 
day  on  the  turf. 

It  is  extraordinary  how  much  one  does  forget!  I  can  recollect 
nothing  particular  of  the  Limited  Co.'s  beginnings  (although  I 
must  have  known  all  about  them  at  the  time)  until  more  than  a 
year  after  the  sale  of  the  tiara.  Hickman  came  to  see  my  Father, 
and  was  "glad  to  say  matters  were  looking  much  better."  His 
recent  visits  had  been  penitential  as  to  his  own  mishaps  and  cen- 
sorious of  other  people's.  As  I  was  seeing  him  downstairs  I 


JOSEPH  VANCE  359 

remember  his  saying  to  me,  "Oh,  by-the-bye,  Mr.  Joseph,  I  for- 
got to  tell  Mr.  Vance  that!  You  remember  Shaw,  our  old  gate- 
office  man?  He  called  last  week  for  a  chance,  and  of  course  I 
put  him  on.  That  was  a  very  good  place  Mr.  Vance  got  him,  but 
he  fell  out  with  them  because  they  sacked  a  man  for  being  drunk 
in  his  overtime — the  overtime  having  been  unexpected.  It  was 
rather  a  shame!  Well!  Shaw  came  off  the  job,  on  principle,  and 
came  back  to  us.  And  he  brought  me  round,  to  show  me,  a  relic 
he  saved  out  of  the  old  fire !  You'll  recollect  the  board  that  stood 
inside  the  Gate-office?  With  your  Father's  name  on  it,  and 
Drains  Attended  To?  Shaw  said  he  wouldn't  part  with  it  on  any 
terms,  and  I  had  to  go  to  two  pounds  ten  to  get  him  to  give  it  up. 
But  I've  got  it  now  in  the  Office  in  Abchurch  Lane,  and  it's  a  good 
deal  thought  of." 


CHAPTEK  XXXIX 

JOE'S  FATHER  SLIPS  DOWNHILL.  PETER  GUNN  CROPS  UP.  AND  AT  LAST 
OLD  VANCE  KNOWS  THE  STORY  OP  THE  BOTTLE-END.  HE  REACHES 
THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  HILL,  AND  GOES  ELSEWHERE.  BUT  THE  BOARD 
IS  STRONG  AND  PHEENER  IS  DESERVEDLY  RICH,  AND  ALL  IS  WELL. 
SO  JOE  HAS  TIME  FOR  REMINISCENCE,  AND  REMEMBERS  HOW  HE  MET 
PORKY  OWLS  AGAIN,  AND  DIDN'T  KNOW  HIM. 

MY  Father  cannot  be  said  to  have  ever  really  rallied.  The  oc- 
casion I  described  in  the  previous  chapter  is  one  of  the  last  I  can 
call  to  mind  when  he  seemed  quite  like  his  dear  old  contradictious 
self.  So  said  his  wife.  He  had  light  fluctuations,  as  when  for 
instance  his  Doctor  announced  that  complication  with  Kidneys 
was  to  be  feared.  "  As  if,"  said  he  indignantly,  "  I  was  a  beef- 
steak puddin' ! " 

But  whether  it  was  liver  or  kidneys  or  heart  or  lungs,  or  that 
refuge  of  destitute  Diagnosis,  a  complication,  was  never  deter- 
mined. All  that  was  quite  clear  was  that  the  injury  to  the  spine 
had  come  to  stay.  Diagnosis  would  have  it  that  something  else 
was  responsible,  but  never  made  up  its  mind  to  say  exactly  what. 
Treatment  seemed  to  have  only  one  instinct — namely,  to  head  him 
off  from  any  nourishment  he  felt  a  special  wish  for.  As  the  effect 
of  interdicting  anything  whatever  was  to  make  him  refuse  food 
till  he  got  it,  the  only  chance  of  diet  was  for  every  one  else  to  adopt 
it  as  well  as  the  patient.  Unfortunately,  he  soon  saw  through 
this,  and  refused  tea  unless  it  had,  in  addition  to  its  own  natural 
sugar,  all  the  sugar  there  ought  to  have  been  in  that  beastly  plain 
pudd'n  at  lunch.  The  moment  he  found  out  that  we  were  living 
on  triumphs  of  insipidity  with  an  eye  to  his  welfare,  he  revolted, 
and  underwent  agonies  of  starvation  until  we  surrendered  at  dis- 
cretion. "  What's  under  this  here  cover  now  ? "  he  would  say.  "  Is 
it  nutritious  diet?  Because  if  so,  you  may  give  it  to  the  cat.  If 
it's  food  which  would  be  fatal  in  my  case,  you  may  take  the  cover 
off."  And  off  came  the  cover  accordingly.  "  As  for  how  many 
lumps  o'  sugar  in  the  toddy,  how  many  has  the  Doctor  strictly 
limited  'em  to  ?  One  ?  Is  that  all  ?  We'll  go  two  better  than  that 
and  strictly  limit  'em  to  three,  and  then  if  that  don't  satisfy  him, 

360 


JOSEPH  VANCE  361 

nothing  will."  But  examples  of  skilful  perversion  of  this  sort 
became  fewer  and  farther  between,  until  at  last,  the  Doctor  hav- 
ing admitted  that  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  fidgeting  him 
about  diet,  it  ceased  to  be  a  bone  of  contention.  And  as  very  few 
or  no  other  bones  presented  themselves,  there  ensued  a  calm,  of 
which  we  all  knew  the  meaning,  and  we  felt  that  the  end  was  in 
sight. 

It  may  have  been  some  months  before  his  death  that  he  said 
that  about  the  three  lumps  of  sugar.  I  was  concocting  his  toddy 
at  about  midnight,  the  beginning  of  the  only  time  when  he  was 
at  all  wakeful — for  even  in  this  he  was  contradictious,  sleeping  all 
day  and  getting  restive  between  twelve  and  one  in  the  morning. 
I  had  given  in,  and  allowed  the  three  lumps,  and  was  just  going 
to  leave  the  tumbler  in  his  hands,  when  it  slipped  and  was  broken 
on  the  floor.  "Don't  cut  your  fingers  pickin'  of  it  up,  Nipper," 
said  he.  The  mishap  was  soon  remedied,  and  he  lay  back  sipping 
the  second  concoction. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  he,  "  what's  become  of  poor  Peter  Gunn."  I 
should  have  thought  this  had  come  into  his  mind  out  of  the  blue, 
only  that  Peter  had  come  into  mine  too.  It  was  the  broken 
glass. 

"  Ah — I  wonder !  "  said  I.  "  And  I  wonder  what's  become  of 
Porky  Owls  and  Gummy  Harbuttle." 

"I  don't  wonder  about  them.  Because  they  was  young,  and 
likely  to  go  on  by  nature.  But  poor  Peter  was  gettin'  on,  and  he 
might  be  either  a  Corpse  or  a  Ghost,  accordin'  as  you  look  at  it." 
I  really  had  never  credited  my  Daddy  with  thinking  on  this  sub- 
ject, and  this  speech  of  his  presented  very  strongly  to  me  his 
singular  faculty  for  boiling  down  a  subject  and  wrapping  it  up. 
I  am  borrowing  his  own  expression,  used  once  long  ago  over  a 
specification. 

"  Of  course,"  I  replied.    "  Peter  may  have  been  dead  years  ago." 

"  Which  should  you  suppose  Peter  was  now — a  Corpse  or  a 
Ghost?"  I  inclined  to  the  latter,  with  reservations. 

"  Which  would  you  soonest  be,  Nipper  ?  " 

"  What's  your  own  idea,  Dad '? " 

"A  Ghost,  of  course!  Think  how  you  could  go  about 
frightenin'  timid  females.  I'd  sooner  be  one  or  t'other,  square 
and  fair,  than  a  Ghost  in  a  Corpse,  which  is  my  feelins  at  present. 
If  I  was  a  Ghost,  at  any  rate  I  could  go  and  frighten  Peter  Gunn, 
if  still  livin*.  I'd  like  to  be  even  with  him.  But  p'r'aps  it  would 
be  'eapin'  up,  as  the  poor  beggar  lost  his  eye." 

I  recollected  that  my  Father  had  never  known  what  boy  threw 


362  JOSEPH  VANCE 

the  bottle-end.  It  would  please  him  to  know  now.  "I  say, 
Daddy,"  said  I. 

"What,  Nipper?" 

"Guess  who  threw  that  glass  at  Peter  Gunn." 

"  That  Police-Orficer — his  name  was  Parrish  or  Purvis,  or 
Kicketts — some  such  a  name — said  it  was  two  young  customers 
with  no  hoots  out  of  Trapp's  Rents — a  little  this  way  of  the  Canal 
Bridge.  Said  he  saw  them  aim  the  glass  and  hook  it." 

"  He  saw  them  hook  it,  but  he  didn't  see  them  aim  the  glass.  I 
saw  them  hook  it.  Let  me  fill  you  up  the  pipe." 

He  puffed  at  his  pipe,  looking  dreamily  at  the  "Stags  without 
Words"  (the  name  had  caught  on),  which  had  been  hung  handily 
for  him  to  see.  I  thought  he  was  forgetting  about  Gunn.  But  he 
wasn't,  he  was  only  guessing.  Presently  he  said: 

"  Your  Mother  she  made  out  it  was  match-factory  or  soap-bilin' 
boys  from  Garrett  Green  way.  But  fancy  the  Nipper  seeing  'em 
— poor  little  Nipper  his  bad  old  Dad  ran  off  and  left !  Why,  Joey 
hoy,  you  wasn't  up  to  my  hand ! " 

"  I  was  big  enough  to  throw  a  bottle-end,  and  I  did  it.  And  I 
hit  Mr.  Gunn,  and  you  should  have  heard  him  howl.  And  then  I 
was  afraid  to  tell  of  it,  till  I  forgot  all  about  it." 

Anything  like  the  dumb  amazement  of  my  Father  I  have  never 
seen.  It  made  him  gasp  and  feel  for  words  without  finding  them. 
At  last  he  got  at  his  voice.  "  My  Nipper,"  said  he,  "  my  Nipper — 
the  little  Nipper !  "  And  for  some  minutes  he  found  nothing  else 
to  say. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  hit  him,  and  I  wasn't  sorry.  Only  I  was 
afraid  he'd  crack  me  like  the  insect,  so  I  never  told  anybody — not 
even  Mother ! " 

"Not  even  Mother!  Oh,  Joey  boy,  I  shall  die  even  with  poor 
Peter  Gunn — and  your  Mother  never  knew  it !  Oh,  Joey,  Joey !  " 
And  the  tears  ran  down  his  face,  as  he  repeated  again  and  again, 
"  Oh,  Joey,  Joey !  Your  dear  Mother ! "  It  was  entirely  on  her 
behalf  that  he  felt  it  so  keenly.  After  a  while  he  said,  speaking 
as  one  reverting  to  his  own  view  of  the  case.  "  It  don't  so  much 
matter  on  my  account,  in  the  manner  of  speaking.  I'm  very  sorry 
for  poor  Peter.  All  the  same  if  one -could  be  awenged  on  one's 
enemies  without  occasioning  of  'em  personal  inconwenience,  it 
would  be  a  satisfaction !  But  when  it  comes  to  eyes ! "  And 
then  he  said  again,  "Poor  Peter,"  and  presently  fell  asleep. 

It  was  not  the  last  time  we  spoke  of  Peter,  for  he  more  than 
once  made  me  tell  him  all  I  could  recollect  of  the  story  over  again. 
He  had  completely  forgotten  a  number  of  things  that  seemed  to 


JOSEPH  VANCE  363 

ine  vital  to  the  history.  For  instance,  about  the  insect  in  the 
quart-pot!  To  me  it  seemed,  and  still  seems,  the  pivot  on  which 
the  whole  thing  centred.  All  the  babies  round  us  now  are  taking 
like  impressions  of  little  things  we  do  not  notice,  and  will  keep 
them  to  their  dying  day. 

He  slept  a  good  deal,  rousing  himself  a  little  when  we  borrowed 
Jeannie's  children  to  brighten  him  up  a  bit.  Happily  or  un- 
happily, as  the  case  may  be  (for  I  have  thought  both  ways,  and 
cannot  pronounce),  there  was  no  progeny  whatever  in  our  es- 
tablishment. He  himself  used  to  regard  Jeannie  in  the  light  of 
Mudie's.  "  When  you've  none  of  your  own,  send  to  the  Circulatin' 
Libery,"  was  his  way  of  putting  it.  They  were  beautiful  chil- 
dren, and  the  little  girls  used  to  play  at  weddings  and  christenings 
all  in  one,  but  prided  themselves  on  knowing  that  the  christenings 
always  came  after  the  weddings.  Their  families'  busts  came  off 
and  their  insides  came  out  and  got  all  over  everything,  and  their 
eyes  glared  hideously  into  space,  and  they  afforded  no  satisfaction 
to  a  public  hungry  for  kisses,  and  their  mammas  complained  of 
being  preferred  unduly.  But  they  were  a  happiness  to  my  dear 
old  Dad  as  he  slid  gently  down  the  hill,  and  if  I  could  see  those 
mothers  and  thank  them  I  should  be  glad.  They  are,  to  the  best 
of  my  belief,  real  parents  of  real  children  now,  and  the  girls,  I 
conjecture,  will  soon  be  old  enough  for  Grandmamma  to  make 
matches  for.  Jeannie,  I  believe,  is  very  beautiful  still,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  as  keen  as  formerly  at  her  favourite  pastime. 

Well,  then,  my  dear  old  Dad  went  slowly,  slowly  down  the  hill. 
His  wife,  variously  Pheener,  Clementina,  Miss  Dowdeswell  or  Mrs. 
V.,  was  a  good  woman  if  ever  there  was  one!  You  know  it  is  no 
easy  matter  to  nurse  a  contradictious  patient  who  cannot  raise 
himself  to  sit  up,  far  less  walk.  But  she  held  on  to  the  last,  and 
then  when  the  end  came  quite  gave  in  and  became  almost  frantic 
with  grief.  "  Oh,  Master  Joseph,  Master  Joseph,"  she  cried,  quite 
forgetting  all  but  the  past,  "  Missis  would  say  I  did  my  best.  I'm 
sure  she  would.  But  I  might  have  had  him  a  little  longer.  It 
need  not  have  been  quite  the  end." 

But  it  was,  or  at  least  as  much  the  end  as  it  ever  is.  The  long 
diminuendo  had  died  down  to  silence,  or  to  a  pause  followed  by  a 
new  movement  that  we  who  were  left  in  the  silence  could  not 
hear. 

******** 

The  firm  of  Christopher  Vance  £  Co.  Ltd.  exists  no  longer  under 
that  name,  but  I  am  told  that  at  the  Offices  of  the  great  Company 
of  which  it  formed  the  chief  constituent,  there  is  still  treasured 


364  JOSEPH  VANCE 

the  board  which  once  was  the  property  of  the  mysterious  and 
vanished  C.  Dance.  Original  shares  in  this  Company  have 
doubled  in  value,  and  my  stepmother,  who  is  living  still  with  a 
second  husband  in  Worcestershire,  is  a  rich  woman  and  influen- 
tial. She  married,  I  believe,  an  old  sweetheart,  and  has  several 
sons  and  daughters  all  growing  up  now.  What  a  deal  of  room 
there  is  for  incidents  in  a  quarter  of  a  century !  It  was  four  years 
(apparently)  before  Pheener  would  listen  to  this  old  sweetheart, 
and  she  has  had  over  twenty  years  of  extremely  family  life  since. 
She  asked  me  to  be  a  trustee  of  her  marriage  settlement.  But  I 
selfishly  (no  doubt)  refused,  it  being  a  case  in  which  I  could  not 
be  bullied  into  consenting.  For  I  had  had  a  warning  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Trusteeships,  which  I  shall  have  to  refer  to  later  in  this 
narrative. 

After  my  Father's  death  all  went  on  as  usual.  Vance  & 
Macallister  throve,  and  fully  justified  the  faith  placed  in  them  by 
the  official  assignees  of  C.  Vance  &  Co.  How  the  disappearance 
of  the  payment  of  fifteen  thousand  pounds,  which  ought  by  rights 
to  have  come  in  somewhere  in  Vance  &  Co.'s  books,  was  accounted 
for,  we  never  knew.  But  there  was  no  doubt  the  concern  at  that 
time  was  solvent  without  it,  and  my  Father  had  a  perfect  right  to 
convert  it  into  pocket-money  and  buy  trinkets  for  any  lady  he 
chose  to  spend  it  on.  I  believe  it  was  an  unnecessary  precaution 
to  make  a  present  of  it  to  Miss  Dowdeswell  before  he  was  engaged 
to  her,  but  it  showed  the  degree  of  his  mistrust  of  law  and  lawyers. 
Anyhow,  his  creditors  never  raised  any  question  about  it,  and 
accepted  sixteen  shillings  in  the  pound  gratefully.  Bony  and  I 
discharged  the  principal  and  interest  of  our  debt  for  the  building 
rather  sooner  than  was  expected,  and  all  went  well  with  us. 

Now  that  I  have  got  thus  far  in  my  story  I  will  wait  a  little 
and  think  of  something  pleasant.  I  will  light  this  pipe  and  smoke 
it  in  my  armchair  before  the  fire,  and  nobody  shall  worry  me. 

I  think  I  shall  be  unmolested.  Unless,  indeed,  a  German  gentle- 
man I  sometimes  play  chess  with  has  forgiven  me  for  what  he 
says  was  the  drig  I  played  him.  Most  players  will  remember 
Zukertort's  problem  which  puzzled  everybody,  and  turned  on 
Black's  last  move  having  been  pawn  two  squares,  and  White  hav- 
ing the  choice  of  taking  across,  which  was  the  key-move  of  the 
problem.  Of  course  White  didn't  realize  this,  and  was  very  angry 
when  he  had  to  give  it  up !  My  German  was  so  indignant  that  he 
has  never  been  near  me  since.  He  said  it  was  the  merest  jezdrig. 
I  don't  think  he  will  forgive  me. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  365 

What  shall  I  think  about  that  is  only  pleasant,  and  that  I  can 
bear  to  think  about?  Shall  I  try  the  wooden  carriage-gate  at 
Poplar  Villa  with  five  square  horizontal  bars  and  one  cross-piece, 
and  some  vertical  thin  irons  through  the  three  lowest  bars,  to 
discourage  the  passing  street  dog?  It  does  not  hurt  me  to  recall 
it  as  it  swung  to,  after  my  Daddy  and  I  passed  through,  coming 
away  from  that  first  visit  to  Poplar  Villa.  But  my  mind  goes 
back  a  little  more,  and  Lossie  is  running  down  the  front-door 
steps  with  a  huge  piece  of  cake  in  her  hand  for  the  Boy.  No !  I 
will  not  think  of  that;  it  must  be  something  else.  I  must  get 
quite,  quite  away — it  ought  to  be  so  easy  for  me  to  do  so!  I 
have  seen  so  many  places  and  so  many  men  since  those  days.  I 
will  pick  something  at  random  out  of  my  South  American  time — 
that  row  in  the  streets  at  Lima  which  began  at  a  gambling-house 
down  the  road,  overnight,  with  savage  recrimination  in  all  lan- 
guages, and  rose  and  fell,  and  rose  and  fell,  all  through  the  tropical 
night,  and  woke  me  from  my  first  sleep  as  it  burst  out  and  filled 
the  street  with  stabbings  and  revolver  shots.  And  then  a  descent 
in  force  of  the  police,  and  my  going  out  and  penetrating  the  crowd 
because  I  heard  so  unmistakable  an  English  voice  in  altercation 
with  the  officers.  Its  owner  was  explaining  that  he  really  had  not 
been  concerned  in  what  he  quite  properly  called  the  bloody  row 
himself,  being  merely  one  of  the  crew  of  an  English  ship  that 
had  put  in  at  Callao  for  repairs  after  bad  weather,  and  who  had 
walked  over  to  see  as  much  Peru  as  he  could,  while  his  leave 
lasted.  I  was  able  to  get  him  out  of  his  mess,  and  took  him  to  the 
house  I  was  lodging  in,  and  patched  him  up,  for  he  was  not  un- 
scratched.  And  when  I  came  to  talk  to  him  it  appeared  that  his 
name  was  Howells,  and  that  when  a  boy  he  lived  near  London — 
down  in  the  souVest,  nigh  to  Wimbledon.  And  will  you  believe 
it,  it  was  all  so  long  ago,  and  life  had  told  so  upon  each  of  us, 
that  neither  remembered  the  other?  For  it  was  not  till  after  he 
departed  that  I  suddenly  recollected  that  Stallwood's  Cottages  were 
nigh  to  Wimbledon,  though  that  was  not  how  I  located  them 
mentally,  and  that  Porky  Owls's  real  name  was  Robert  Howells. 
And  then  I  was  as  sure,  when  it  was  too  late,  that  this  grizzled 
seaman  of  fifty  was  Porky,  as  I  was  of  myself  having  been  that 
small  boy  who  caught  newts  with  him  in  ponds,  and  carried  them 
home  in  pickle-bottles.  Of  course  I  was  sorry  we  parted  un- 
revealed,  but  one  can't  always  have  the  dramatic  and  interesting — 
one  has  to  accept  the  actual.  As  an  American  poet  sings,  "  Oh, 
darn  those  things  that  go  and  be,  without  consulting  you  and 
me ! "  I  should  have  liked  to  have  chatted  over  old  times.  I 


366  JOSEPH  VANCE 

might  hare  convinced  him  of  the  existence  of  equilateral  triangles 
— who  knows  ? 

But  what  does  my  perverse  memory  run  back  to  now,  at  his 
suggestion  ?  Not  the  ponds  and  the  newts — not  the  renown  at  peg- 
top  he  was  named  from — not  his  contempt  of  Number  and  Magni- 
tude. What  comes  back  to  me  unbidden  is  the  front  room  at 
Chelsea,  looking  over  the  river.  And  it  is  my  birthday — and 
Janey  comes  from  the  back  room  to  kiss  me — my  wife  of  all  those 
years  ago!  And  what  brings  this  back  is  her  having  asked  from 
the  back  room,  two  minutes  after,  for  a  confirmation  of  Porky's- 
impossible  name. 

Perhaps  if  I  think  of  the  earthquake  at  Lima  the  next  night, 
and  the  mad  terror  of  man  and  beast,  all  but  the  fire-flies,  who 
seemed  quite  unconcerned — perhaps  if  I  think  of  these  I  shall  be- 
safe  from  things  that  come  out  of  the  past  laden  with  useless 
pain.  I  will  try. 

Perhaps,  however,  I  will  first  see  who  my  landlady  (a  most 
disagreeable  person)  is  treating  with  contumely  on  the  stairs.  I 
will  go  out  and  listen  over  the  banisters.  I  suspect  it  is  Herr 
Pfleiderer,  my  German  chess-friend.  It  is,  and  it  seems  he  will 
vorgiff  me  that  drig,  and  blay  a  game,  if  I  will  admit  that  it  was 
a  drig,  and  was  not  a  broplem — in  fact,  was  not  jez  at  all.  I  am 
not  sorry  he  has  come,  and  admit  everything.  And  then  we  have 
a  two  hours'  game  ending  in  a  draw — I  avail  myself  of  a  perpetual 
check,  or  neither  of  us  might  get  to  bed  to-night. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THIS  CHAPTER  IS  REALLY  ALL  DEVOTED  TO  DR.  THORPE'S  OPINIONS,  AL- 
THOUGH IT  PRETENDS  NOT  AT  THE  BEGINNING.  BETTER  SKIP  THEM. 
A  QUOTATION  FROM  TENNYSON.  JANEY  AND  JOE  MAKE  EACH  A 
PROMISE  TO  THE  OTHER. 

AFTER  my  Father's  death  the  world  went  on  as  usual.  The 
rapid  construction  of  infernal  machines  of  various  kinds  pro- 
gressed at  the  Factory,  and  pointed  to  a  happy  time  in  the  future 
when,  all  the  able-bodied  males  of  all  races  having  become 
Casualties,  the  blessings  of  peace  will  accrue  to  their  fellow  crea- 
tures, until  a  couple  of  them  are  discharged  cured  and  ready  to 
begin  again.  Mrs.  Macallister's  next  baby  came — or  stop!  Was 
it  her  next  baby,  or  the  next  after  that?  I  really  cannot  be  posi- 
tive at  this  length  of  time.  Janey  used  to  borrow  a  young  and 
juicy  one,  I  know,  and  gloat  over  it  for  hours  together.  She,  poor 
girl,  did  not  approve  of  being  out  of  it  in  this  way,  and  thought 
Jeannie  very  greedy  for  wanting  to  keep  so  many  to  herself.  She 
would  gladly  have  appropriated  this  one  outright.  Perhaps  it  was 
well,  as  it  turned  out,  that  she  never  did  so. 

There  is  nothing  in  all  this  story  of  any  importance  that  I  did 
not  tell  to  Janey,  one  time  or  another,  in  very  nearly  the  words  I 
have  used  here.  Even  that  .wretched  week  at  Oxford,  after  Dr. 
Thorpe  went  back  home  and  left  me  to  wrestle  with  my  own  con- 
fusion— even  that  I  told  her,  without  reserve.  I  should  have  felt 
dishonest  to  keep  anything  back;  and  told  it  all,  the  best  I  could. 
I  put  my  soul  in  Janey's  keeping,  with  all  faults  and  errors  of 
description,  like  fish  sold  by  auction  at  Billingsgate.  You  could 
never  understand  it  as  she  did,  even  if  you  existed,  which  you 
don't.  Still  less,  I  conceive,  than  she  does  if  she  exists  now — 
which  is  at  least  as  likely  as  that  you  ever  will,  maybe  more  so !  I 
can  remember,  one  time  at  Chelsea,  how  I  looked  up  from  writing 
a  letter,  and  saw  at  the  other  side  of  the  table  Janey  with  distinct 
tears  in  her  hazel  eyes,  and  her  chin  resting  on  both  hands,  look- 
ing at  me. 

"What's  the  matter,  ducky  darling?"  said  I,  "you're  getting 

367 


368  JOSEPH  VANCE 

low,  and  want  cheering  up.  Let's  go  and  see  Terriss  at  the 
Gaiety ;  he'll  make  us  laugh !  " 

"  I'm  not  low !  I'm  very  cheerful.  I  was  only  thinking  about 
you,  you  poor  darling  silly  old  Jacky,  all  by  yourself  in  those 
rooms  at  Oxford,  crying  your  eyes  out  about  Lossie  Desprez! 
Wouldn't  it  be  nice  now,  do  be  honest  and  confess,  to  wake  up  and 
find  it  was  all  a  dream?  All,  all,  all! — up  to  now,  I  mean." 

"  That's  too  stiff  a  question  to  answer  off-hand." 

"  Oh  no !  Just  think — fancy  waking  up  in  the  morning  and 
writing  it  all  to  Lossie!  (By-the-bye,  you  haven't  forgotten  to 
post  your  letter  to  her,  I  hope,  and  mine  to  the  de  Pembertons  to 
say  we  can't  come  on  Monday?  That's  all  right!)  Well,  Jacky 
dear,  what  would  you  have  said?" 

"  I  should  have  said  there  was  a  young  lady  in  the  dream  that 
I  loved  such  a  lot  of  veries  that  I  wished  myself  asleep  again." 

"Just  like  you  did  Hedwig?" 

"  Why,  no !  Hedwig  was  a  dear  girl,  no  doubt,  and  very  pretty, 
but  she  was  the  age  of  my  daughters — the  dowdies  that  they  were ! 
Do  you  know,  Jilly  darling,  I  never  felt  quite  sure  that  girl  didn't 
cosset  up  to  my  girls  because  she  was  tall  and  they  were  short,  and 
she  could  sing  and  they  could  only  grunt,  like  pigs!  But  they're 
all  squashed  now,  and  it  doesn't  matter." 

"  I  wonder  whether  there's  a  Schloss  anywhere  that  means  to 
come  down  and  squash  all  in  this  dream — and  which  of  us  is  going 
to  do  the  waking." 

"I  hope  you  will!  No!  darling.  I  won't  be  so  beastly  selfish, 
I  hope  I  shall." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you're  really  there?"  asked  Janey,  with 
very  grave  eyes  and  mouth.  "  Are  you  ? "  said  I,  and  then  both 
agreed  we  felt  pretty  certain. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  she,  "  perhaps  when  the  Schloss  comes  down 
we  shall  both  wake  together." 

"  Bother  that  Schloss !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  I  declare  I  will  not  be 
overhung  by  any  such  abominable  infliction.  I'll  thank  that 
Schloss  to  dry  up." 

"  But  it  would  be  rather  fun  to  wake  together  and  talk  it  over, 
Wouldn't  it  now,  Jack  ?  " 

"Well— it  certainly  would  1" 

"  I  should  so  like  to  know  what  Dr.  Thorpe  thinks  about  such 
things." 

"What  things?" 

"  Bogy  things — I  shall  ask  him  and  make  him  talk  about  them 
aext  Sunday." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  369 

For  whatever  else  changed  there  was  one  thing  that  remained 
unchanged,  and  that  was  an  alternate  Sunday-evening  visit  to 
Poplar  Villa.  It  had  got  inaugurated  when  we  were  first  engaged, 
only  it  did  not  occur  half-a-dozen  times  in  our  first  engagement. 
When  we  got  broken  off  I  resumed  my  every  Sunday,  very  often 
going  to  lunch  and  stopping  all  day.  Since  we  got  broken  on 
again,  as  Janey  called  it,  we  had  alternated  a  Sunday  visit  there 
with  a  Harnpstead  one.  We  used  to  go  to  her  family  on  Saturday 
evening,  and  stay  till  Monday. 

This  particular  next  Sunday  came,  and  we  hansomed  over  after 
tea  through  an  alternation  of  deluge  and  sun-blaze,  on  what  would 
have  been  a  glorious  April  day  if  it  had  been  the  Saturday  follow- 
ing, which  was  April  Fool's  Day.  I  remember  this  because  I 
remember  Janey  hoaxing  me  on  the  way  up  to  Hampstead  on  that 
day.  She  asked  me  quite  seriously,  if  I  was  sure  I  had  the  ticket 
in  my  pocket,  and  my  hand  went  to  my  pocket  before  I  re- 
membered that  the  ticket  was  not  yet  taken!  It  had  been  settled 
that  we  should  go  to  Italy  for  a  holiday,  by  sea  if  possible,  and  I 
was  to  enquire  about  the  tickets  on  the  Monday  following,  in 
Cockspur  Street. 

Only  Professor  Absalom,  Dr.  Thorpe's  old  friend,  was  at  Poplar 
Villa,  except  ourselves.  The  Macallisters  had  been  asked,  but  had 
declined  privately,  in  conference  with  me,  unless  it  was  guaranteed 
that  Beppino  would  not  be  in  evidence.  As  I  knew  he  would,  if 
he  heard  that  Jeannie  was  coming,  I  could  not  press  them  to 
accept  the  Doctor's  invitation. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  as  we  all  sat  in  the  Library,  Janey, 
determined  to  entamer  the  conversation  towards  the  discussion  of 
what  she  called  Bogy  things,  referred  to  a  story  (I  believe  it  is  a 
very  well-known  one)  of  the  recovery  of  some  lost  leases,  which 
were  found  as  indicated  by  a  clairvoyant  in  the  organ-loft  of 
Exeter  Cathedral,  having  been  left  there  by  their  owner  during  a 
short  stay  when  he  officiated  as  temporary  organist.  It  is  a  very 
good  story  of  the  sort,  and  Dr.  Thorpe  remarked  that  he  classed 
it  among  those  testimonies  which  are  either  impudent  lies  or  con- 
clusive proofs.  "  Proofs  of  what  ? "  said  Professor  Absalom. 

"  In  this  case,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  proof  that  a  man's  intelligence 
can  go  outside  his  radius.  Or  else  that  he  can  leave  his  body  be- 
hind him  and  carry  his  intelligence  with  him.  I  am  speaking," 
continued  he,  laughing,  "with  a  painful  sense  that  I  do  not  un- 
derstand my  own  words." 

A  general  protest  followed  against  any  one  keeping  silence  on 
that  account.  "Man  is  endowed  with  the  faculty  of  speech,"  re- 


370  JOSEPH  VANCE 

marked  Professor  Absalom,  "  in  case  any  one  else  should  be  able 
to  understand  him.  No  reasonable  Creator  would  require  that  he 
should  be  intelligible  to  himself.  If  he  did  he  would  soon  be 
disillusioned.  I  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupting  you,  Miss 
Thorpe — you  were  just  going  to  say  ? "  For  Aunt  Izzy  had  en- 
deavoured to  make  an  observation. 

"  I  was  only  saying,  Professor,  that  it  surely  was  very  wrong  of 
him  to  leave  all  those  poor  girls  in  the  organ-loft  by  themselves. 
Of  course,  if  there  was  any  older  or  responsible  person  there  it 
would  not  matter  so  much.  But  just  fancy,  all  night  in  an  organ- 
loft!" 

The  Doctor  looked  at  me  for  a  clue,  and  I  looked  at  Janey.  We 
all  shook  our  heads,  as  baffled  solvers  of  an  enigma.  "We  must 
get  at  it  gradually,"  said  he.  "Try  and  elucidate  it,  Mrs.  Joe. 
She  hears  your  voice  pretty  welL"  And  Janey  shouted  into  the 
ear-trumpet,  "  What  poor  girls,  Miss  Thorpe  ? " 

"  Well — iny  dear — those  girls  you.  said !  That  man's  nieces  that 
he  left  in  the  organ-loft." 

We  were  all  well  trained,  and  nobody  laughed.  Janey  shouted 
the  correction  " leases,  not  nieces"  and  Aunt  Izzy  said,  "  Of 
course  it's  not,  but  you  didn't  speak  plain.  I  heard  you  perfectly 
this  time.  Only,  why  did  he  have  the  Police  up  into  the  organ- 
loft  ? "  I  pulled  out  a  pocket  pencil  and  wrote  leases,  plainly,  on 
my  shirt-cuff  and  showed  it  to  her.  But  Aunt  Izzy  was  navree 
and  thought  she  would  go  to  bed,  although  it  was  early,  and  said 
good-night  and  did  what  she  thought.  The  poor  old  lady  would 
not  accept  compulsory  silence,  and  it  made  conversation  difficult. 

"  Now,  Doctor,  fire  away,"  said  Janey.  "  You  said  you.  would, 
you  know."  Which  was  untrue,  but  that  didn't  matter. 

"What  about?" 

"  About  souls  in  bodies,  and  general  Bogyism ;  you  know  what  I 
mean,  and  I  want  to  know  what  you  think.  No,  Doctor,  I'm  not 
in  joke — I  really  should  like  to  get  you  to  talk  about  it — if  you 
don't  dislike " 

"  I  don't  the  least  mind  talking  about  Death  and  what  follows— 
which  I  take  it  is  what  you  mean?  My  difficulty  is  to  find  any- 
thing to  say,  worth  saying,  that  hasn't  been  said  before." 

He  tapped  on  his  snuffbox  as  if  there  might  be  something  worth 
saying  inside,  and  held  it  out  to  Professor  Absalom  standing  on 
the  hearthrug.  The  Professor  took  a  pinch  and  sat  down  on  the 
armchair  opposite  to  enjoy  it  slowly  and  sneeze  in  peace.  I  filled 
a  pipe  and  settled  down  oa  the  rug  with  my  head  in  Janey's  lap. 

"  You  know,  Joe,"  said  the  Doctor,,  "  I  really  think  yaur.  dew 


JOSEPH  VANCE  371 

Father  touched  the  root  of  the  matter  when  he  said  that  about  a 
corpse  and  a  ghost — you  remember?"  I  nodded,  and  lighted  my 
pipe.  "  Well !  I'm  always  speculating  about  why  I  always  take 
Life  after  Death  for  granted,  while  so  many  people  start  with 
extinction,  and  throw  the  onus  probandi  of  a  hereafter  on  the 
Immortalist.  I  always  catch  myself  seeking  for  a  proof  of  ex- 
tinction, and  finding  none.  I  used  to  think  once  that  it  was  only 
resentment  against  the  attitude  of  those  who  see  a  proof  of  cessa- 
tion of  existence  in  the  disappearance  of  the  means  by  which  they 
have  detected  it  in  others.  I  mean  the  existence  of  other  Egos 
than  their  own.  For  I  never  have  seen,  and  never  shall  see,  that 
the  cessation  of  the  evidence  of  existence  is  necessarily  evidence 
of  the  cessation  of  existence.  I'm  very  wordy,  but  it's  difficult! — 
Well!  In  those  days  I  was  satisfied  that  no  man  ever  spoke  of 
his  Self — sounds  vulgar,  doesn't  it,  Mrs.  Joe ?" 

"Very.    Do  go  on,  Doctor!     Spoke  of  his  Self?" 

"  And  meant  only  his  Carcase — I  used  to  think  of  it  this  way, 
and  thought  others  ought  to  think  as  I  did. — Well!  I've  changed 
my  mind." 

"  Oh,  Doctor !  You  never  mean  to  say  you  have  ceased  to  be- 
lieve in  a  soul  ? " 

"Devil  a  bit,  dear  Mrs.  Joe!  I  believe  in  it  (in  my  own,  at 
any  rate)  more  than  ever.  I  only  mean  that  in  these  latter  days 
I  refer  my  strong  conviction  on  the  subject  to  a  physical  fact  more 
than  to  a  logical  sequence." 

"Do  you  discredit  your  earlier  logic?"  asked  Professor  Ab- 
salom. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  It  was  all  very  well  as  far  as  it  went,  but  no 
man  ever  was  convinced  by  logic  of  anything  so  strongly  as  I  am 
convinced  that  I  am  (to  borrow  your  dear  Daddy's  expression, 
Joe)  a  ghost  in  a  corpse.  No — Joe  dear — not  even  that  equilateral 
triangles  are  also  equiangular." 

Perhaps  the  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  had  reminded 
him.  The  hair  of  the  corpse  was  greyer  now,  and  the  lines  on  its 
face  deeper.  •  But  the  ghost  was  the  same  ghost,  or  very  nearly. 
The  small  unpuzzled  boy  that  had  sat  on  his  knee  was  almost  a 
new  corpse  and  a  new  ghost  since  then.  The  Doctor  continued 
seeing  into  my  mind. 

"Don't  look  sad  over  it  old  Joe!  All  these  are  things  we 
should  find  an  immense  satisfaction  in,  if  we  could  only  see  far 
enough.  It's  our  confounded  short  sight." 

"  You're  losing  the  thread  of  your  discourse,  Thorpe,"  said  Pro- 
fessor Absalom.  "  Why  are  you  so  convinced  ? " 


372  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  I  am  convinced  by  constant  observation  that  it  is  not  true 
that  all  people  feel  more  or  less  as  I  did;  but  that  there  are  two 
distinct  classes  of  people  in  the  world;  those  that  feel  that  they 
themselves  are  in  a  body;  and  those  that  feel  that  they  themselves 
are  a  body,  with  something  working  it.  I  feel  like  the  contents  of 
a  bottle,  and  am  very  curious  to  know  what  will  happen  when  the 
bottle  is  uncorked.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  mousseux — who  knows? 
Now  I  know  that  many  people  feel  like  a  strong  moving  engine, 
self -stoking,  and  often  so  anxious  to  keep  the  fire  going  that  they 
put  too  much  fuel  on,  and  it  has  to  be  raked  out  and  have  the  bars 
cleared.  Which  do  you  feel  like,  Mrs.  Joe  ? " 

"Do  you  know,  Dr.  Thorpe,  I  doubt  if  my  mind  is  made  up. 
Of  course  if  I  had  known  there  were  people  who  didn't  feel  as  I 
do,  I  should  have  examined  myself  at  intervals  to  see  if  I  didn't 
really  feel  as  they  did.  It  would  only  be  fair." 

"Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Joseph,"  said  Professor  Absalom,  "you 
haven't  answered  the  Doctor's  question.  Which  do  you  feel 
like?" 

"  Me  ?  Why,  of  course,  like  the  contents  of  a  bottle — only  with 
an  apprehension  that  when  they  draw  the  cork  it  will  hurt  me. 
How  do  you  feel  about  that,  Doctor  ? " 

"  Only  that  it  doesn't  matter.  The  cork  will  come  out,  and  the 
materials  of  the  bottle  go  back  into  the  melting-pot.  It  will  come 
out  quite  suddenly  with  me.  I  shall  die  of  angina  pectoris.  I 
have  received  medical  advice  on  no  account  to  fret  myself  on  that 
account,  as  fretting  will  bring  on  an  attack.  And  I  mustn't  allow 
the  apprehension  that  fretting  will  bring  on  an  attack  to  cause  me 
uneasiness.  It's  like  *je  suis  Cassandre,  descendue  dessus,  pour 
vous  faire  comprendre,  Mesdames  et  Messieurs,  que  je  suis 
Cassandre/  etc.  I  am  to  keep  my  thoughts  off  all  depressing  sub- 
jects, especially  Death,  which  appears  to  be  considered  in  Europe 
the  most  depressing  subject  there  is.  No  doubt  the  Higher  Al- 
truism would  be  equally  fussy  about  death  on  account  of  the 
inconvenience  to  survivors.  But  when  one  has  done  a  great  deal 
of  surviving  oneself  one  feels  one  has  a  right  to  be  selfish  about 
that." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Professor  Absalom,  "  that  we  are  wander- 
ing from  one  point  to  another,  perhaps  equally  interesting  to  many, 
but  not  to  me.  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  am  an  Egotist  or  an 
Egoist  (I  forget  which  is  right)  that  I  care  so  little  about  Al- 
truism, higher  or  lower.  What  I  am  listening  for  over  here  is 
Thorpe's  explanation  of  what  he  means  by  feeling  like  a  ghost  ii? 
a  corpse.  I  always  ascribe  a  sort  of  meaning  to  him;  and  in  this 


JOSEPH  VANCE  373 

case,  being  quite  unable  to  detect  one,  I  am  obliged  to  apply  to 
him  for  enlightenment." 

"My  dear  Absalom,  Euclid  wanders  from  one  point  to  an- 
other. However,  I'll  go  back  to  the  first  proposition  with  pleasure. 
By-the-bye,  you  never  told  us  yourself  which  you  feel  like,  the 
contents  of  the  bottle,  or  the  bottle  itself."  The  Professor  said 
neither  one  nor  the  other.  "  What  do  you  feel  like  then  ? "  asked 
the  Doctor. 

"  Very  like  me.  I  have  always  had  a  startling  resemblance  to 
myself,  and  I  have  no  doubt  should  have  been  startled  by  it  when 
it  first  occurred  to  me,  only  I  was  so  young." 

"  Couldn't  you  ask  your  Self  what  it  feels  like  ?  Come,  Pro- 
fessor, to  oblige  a  young  lady?  Look  at  Janey's  serious  face, 
waiting  to  know."  The  Professor  stopped  to  consider  a  minute, 
and  then  said,  a  I  agree  with  the  poet : 

"  Body  and  Spirit  are  twins — God  only  knows  which  is  which — 
The  Soul  squats  down  in  the  Flesh  like  a  tinker  drunk  in  a  ditch." 

The  Doctor  observed  that  he  wished  Beppino  had  written  that. 
One  of  us  remarked  that  it  wasn't  really  Tennyson,  but  an  imita- 
tion. He  said  he  would  have  been  glad  either  way.  "Beppino's 
present  imitations,"  he  added,  "  speak  ill  for  themselves  or  their 
prototypes — I  suspect  the  former.  That  one  does  honour  to  both. 
But  the  last  line  is  on  my  side.  Come,  Professor !  And  now,  Joe, 
there  you  sit  with  your  mouth  shut !  What  do  you  feel  like  ? " 

"  Yes,  Jacky  darling,  what  ?    Don't  pull  my  wedding  ring  off." 

"  I'm  not,  I  was  only  stroking  over  it.  What  do  I  feel  like  ?  I 
think  I  still  feel  more  like  the  engine  with  the  fuel  arrangement." 

"  But  why  do  you  say  still,  Joe  ? " 

"  Because  I  feel  the  feeling  grow  less.  When  I  was  a  kid,  it 
never  occurred  to  me  that  I  was  anything  but  a  unit,  called  Joe. 
As  I  grew  older  it  was  explained  to  me  that  I  was  a  machine  that 
converted  fuel  into  Force,  that  the  steam  would  run  down,  and 
that  I  shouldn't  be  relighted  again  till  the  Day  of  Judgment,  when 
it  might  be  convenient  that  I  should  go  to  Hell  to  assuage  the 
Wrath  of  God.  That  was  Mr.  Capstick.  The  other  was  Penny 
Lecturers  my  Mother  took  me  to.  You  see  it  will  really  be  years, 
even  now,  before  I  get  quite  rid  of  Capstick  and  the  Penny 
Lecturers." 

"I  consider,"  said  Dr.  Thorpe,  "that  most  votes  go  my  way. 
But  this  present  quartet  can  hardly  claim  to  be  real  people  at  all. 
If  you  were  to  poll  all  the  men  at  all  the  Clubs,  and  all  the  women 
at  all  the  Churches — what  were  you  going  to  say,  Professor  ? " 


374  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  what  the  second  proposition  was  to 
be — supposing  we  are  ghosts  in  corpses,  what  do  you  follow  on 
with?" 

"It  answers  the  enquiry — how  far  do  I  take  Life  after  Death 
for  granted  ?  which  is  what  we  started  with.  I  take  it  that  a  great 
many  people — most,  perhaps — feel  that  they  are  Spirits  in  the 
Flesh,  though  the  physical  sensation  (for  that's  what  it  is)  varies 
in  intensity.  I  have  it  very  strongly — conclusively,  as  I  might 
say.  So  strongly  that  when  I  discuss  the  immortality  question  on 
regulation  lines,  I  feel  that  I  am  a  hypocrite;  and  am,  out  of 
deference  to  the  correctitudes,  concealing  what  is  (as  far  as  I  am 
concerned)  the  principal  datum.  I  am  sure,  too,  that  a  large 
minority  at  least  of  the  people  that  I  have  talked  to  on  the  subject 
have  been  strangers  to  the  feeling." 

"  Let's  report  progress,"  said  Professor  Absalom.  "  Thorpe  feels 
like  a  Ghost  in  a  Corpse,  and  concludes  that  when  the  Corpse 
dies  the  Ghost  won't — is  that  right  ?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  draw  any  conclusions.  It  may  die  for  anything 
I  know  to  the  contrary.  But  I  want  proof  of  its  extinction,  and 
none  is  forthcoming.  Of  course,  Professor,  if  you  consider  the 
withdrawal  of  the  impressions  on  your  senses,  which  have  revealed 
to  you  the  existence  of  another  Ego  than  yourself,  a  proof  that 
the  revealed  Ego  has  terminated,  then  the  question  whether  we  are 
immortal  is  answered  as  soon  as  it  is  asked.  I've  said  a  lot  of  that 
before." 

"  I'm  not  cavilling,  Doctor.  I'm  merely  eliciting — give  me 
another  pinch.  Don't  go  on  again  till  I've  sneezed." 

"I  intend  to  sneeze,  myself.  As  soon  as  'I've  sneezed — you- 
may-go-on-eliciting."  The  sneeze  all  but  caught  the  last  five 
words,  quick  as  they  went  to  escape  it. 

"Do  you  see  your  way,  Thorpe,  to  any  conclusions  about  the 
hereafter  itself?  Anything  that  throws  a  light  on  what  and  where 
the  Ghost  is  when  its  Corpse  is  insolvent,  and  in  liquidation,  with 
all  the  Capital  withdrawn  ?  Because  that's  the  Crux ! " 

"That's  the  Crux,  of  course.  But  beyond  the  physical  feeling 
I  have  spoken  of — little  but  speculation.  The  tendency  of  it  has 
been  towards  attaching  weight  to  inferences  to  be  drawn  from 
what  we  know  of  the  Spirit  in  the  Flesh,  the  Ghost  in  the 
Corpse,  rather  than  to  those  that  follow  from  what  are  supposed 
to  be  communications  from  the  other  side.  Some  of  these  may  be 
true,  or  may  not.  I  have  always  felt  on  quicksands  when  I  have 
been  tempted  (as  I  have  once  or  twice)  to  go  to  Bogy  Seances,  as 
Janey  calls  them.  The  authentic  story  of  one  day  is  the  hoax  of 


JOSEPH  VANCE  375 

the  next.  But  what  we  can  see  in  the  strange  phenomenon  other 
people  is  safe  to  go  upon.  Consider  this  case,  if  you  can  admit  it. 
A  man  is  born  incapable  of  thought  or  imagination,  of  a  single 
generous  impulse  or  noble  action.  Don't  say  no  such  thing  can 
be — after  all,  it  would  only  be  an  extreme  case.  Then  suppose 
him  to  live  a  life  of  perfect  satisfaction,  supplied  with  everything 
his  physical  nature  can  enjoy.  And  then  suppose  that  physical 
nature  suddenly  withdrawn,  and  the  miserable  Ghost,  despoiled  of 
its  darling  Corpse,  left  to  make  the  best  job  it  can  of  existence 
without  any  of  the  things  that  made  up  what  it  thought  its 
happiness  on  this  side.  He  would  be  no  better  off  than  a  baby 
dead  at  birth,  so  far  as  any  growth  or  development  goes  that  could 
take  place  here.  But  whereas  the  baby  would  be  open  to  take  new 
impressions  and  enter  on  new  growths,  our  friend  would  have 
grimed  into  him  all  the  worst  corruptions  of  earth,  and  would 
have  forged  a  hundred  chains  to  bind  him  down.  I  picture  to 
myself  some  comfortless  vacuity,  some  Cimmerian  desert,  in  which 
the  miserable  stunted  Ghost  would  drag  on  a  life  of  yearning  for 
his  glorious  debaucheries  in  his  happy  days  on  the  planet  Tellus. 
It  is  a  mere  fancy,  suggested  by  contrasting  such  a  case  with  its 
antipodes,  which  I  take  to  be  that  of  the  man  who,  absorbed  in  a 
world  of  his  own  mind,  is  absolutely  independent  of  externals. 
The  highest  regions  of  mathematical  thought,  for  instance,  often 
cause  an  almost  complete  oblivion  of  physical  surroundings. 
Imagine,  to  illustrate  this,  the  difference  of  the  meaning  of  sol- 
itary confinement  to  Isaac  Newton  and  Beau  Brummell." 

Accurate  valuation  of  the  Ghosts  of  these  two  was  difficult,  and 
was  paused  for  so  long  that  Dr.  Thorpe  had  begun  again  before 
any  one  spoke.  He  had  got  wound  up,  and  no  one  was  going  to 
stop  him. 

"  I  expressed  just  now  my  mistrust  of  what  is  called  Spiritual- 
ism— (very  absurdly,  as  it  deprives  us  of  a  word  the  reverse  of 
materialism.  I  want  the  word  Spiritualist  to  describe  myself,  and 
can't  use  it  because  of  Mrs.  Guppy  and  the  Davenport  Brothers). 
But  I'm  going  to  say  a  good  word  for  even  this  sort  of  thing.  I 
owe  it  a  trifle  for  a  message  said  to  come  from  Voltaire's  Ghost. 
It  was  asked  'Are  you  not  now  convinced  of  another  world?' 
and  rapped  out  t  There  is  no  other  world — Death  is  only  an 
incident  in  Life.'  He  was  a  suggestive  Ghost,  at  any  rate.  And 
among  other  things  he  suggests  that  the  death  of  a  man  might  be 
better  described  as  the  birth  of  a  soul,  and,  inferentially,  a  parallel 
between  the  foresight  into  its  life  to  come  of  the  unborn  child  on 
the  one  hand  and  the  unborn  soul  on  the  other.  Who  shall  say 


376  JOSEPH  VANCE 

that  the  unborn  child  in  its  degree  does  not  learn  as  much  of  this 
world  as  we  succeed  in  learning  of  the  next?  The  physiologist  is 
satisfied  that  the  unborn  child  knows  nothing  and  can  receive  no 
impressions,  but  then  the  Physiologist  is  satisfied  also  that  he  him- 
self is  what  your  young  friend,  Joe — you  remember? — called — 
what  was  it  ?  " 

"  A  wunner  at  knowing  things  ? "  said  I.  "  That  was  Porky 
Owls."  And  Janey  said  did  any  one  ever  hear  such  a  name? — as 
before.  Dr.  Thorpe  continued: 

"  That's  it.  He  thinks  he's  a  wunner  at  knowing  things,  and  I 
suspect  for  my  part  that  he  knows  just  as  little  of  what  he  doesn't 
know  at  all  as  he  did  before  he  was  born.  In  fact,  that  the  soul 
during  gestation  has  only  a  pro-rata  anticipation  of  what  is  before 
it.  Of  course  the  comparison  suggests  all  sorts  of  parallels,  some 
of  them  uncomfortable  ones." 

"For  instance,  Thorpe?" 

"  Well — for  instance — what  is  the  soul-parallel  of  the  child  that 
dies  unborn  ? " 

"  The  death  of  the  Ghost  in  the  Corpse/'  we  all  spoke  simultane- 
ously. 

"  Exactly.  Do  you  find  the  notion  comfortable  ?  I  don't.  But 
I  do  derive  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  from  its  opposite — the  ma- 
turity of  the  Ghost  in  the  Corpse.  In  fact,  dear  Mrs.  Joe — and  I 
know  it's  what  you  were  fishing  for — it  is  the  keynote  of  my 
Philosophy  in  this  matter.  The  sacramental  word  is  growth.  If  I 
am  right,  a  long  life  to  him  is  the  best  wish  we  can  offer  any  man. 
At  any  rate,  he  has  the  opportunity  of  growing  up,  though  of 
course  he  may  avail  himself  of  equal  opportunities  of  growing 
down  or  sideways — developing  as  a  monstrosity,  in  fact !  " 

"  But,  Doctor,"  said  Janey,  "  if  you  are  right,  what  becomes  of 
'  Those  the  Gods  love  die  young '  ? " 

"  Goes  the  way  of  all  gammon,  Mrs.  Joe,  if  I'm  right !  If  I'm 
wrong,  then  I  go  the  way  of  all  gammon-mongers.  Pending  set- 
tlement of  that  question,  I  busy  myself  keeping  a  close  eye  on  the 
queerest  of  Phenomena,  Somebody  Else;  and  what  I  see  tends  to 
confirm  rather  than  unsettle  my  ideas.  Ever  since  I  began  to  look 
at  this  Phenomenon  from  my  new  point  of  view,  I  fancy  I  have 
got  more  and  more  able  to  discriminate  and  classify  him — he 
almost  always  presents  himself  to  me  now  as  a  growing,  decreas- 
ing, or  stationary  Ghost.  The  last  class  is  the  largest,  and  the 
first  the  smallest.  Sometimes  I  am  able  to  account  for  a  nice 
child  turning  out  a  nasty  man  by  supposing  that  his  Ghost  is  still 
a  baby,  and  has  no  control  over  his  Corpse.  Sometimes  I  am  con- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  377 

fronted  with  an  instance  of  an  attractive  old  age  following  a 
detestable  youth.  I  can  only  surmise  that  it  is  due  to  a  maturing 
of  the  contents  of  the  bottle." 

"You  are  not  always  as  mad  as  you  seem,  Thorpe,"  said  Pro- 
fessor Absalom;  "I  discern  redeeming  features  in  your  present 
aberration.  In  fact,  I  should  say  that  the  idea  of  growth  being 
the  greatest  good  is  the  natural  correlative  of  my  old  notion  that 
frustration  is  the  greatest  evil." 

"  Exactly,  And  I  don't  stop  short,  mind  you,  in  my  identifica- 
tion of  growth  and  good,  in  spite  of  apparent  discouragement  from 
the  fact  that  Nightshade  grows  as  well  as  Peaches.  I  would  settle 
that  all  right  if  it  wasn't  past  midnight.  But  before  the  long  and 
short  hands  are  in  a  line,  which  ought  to  be  twenty-seven  and  a 
half  minutes  to  one,  if  the  clock  goes  right " 

"  Keep  to  the  point,  Thorpe !  " 

"  Well — before  then  I  shall  have  to  disclaim  any  idea  of 
settling  the  question  of  the  Origin  of  Evil.  That  remains  exactly 
what  it  was  to  me  before,  a  question  not  needing  discussion  until 
the  Balance  Sheet  of  the  Universe  is  audited.  As  soon  as  we 
know  the  total  evil  and  the  total  good  we  may  think  this  question, 
which  seems  to  us  now  so  important,  a  metaphysical  curiosity. 
For  the  logical  puzzle  remains  the  same,  even  if  we  suppose  our 
Universe  to  be  only  one  among  millions,  and  the  only  evil  in  the 
whole  one  isolated  stomach-ache.  The  owner  of  the  stomach 
will  be  just  as  unable  to  see  why  an  All-wise  and  All-powerful  God 
created  his  ache  as  we  are  why  great  fleas  should  have  little  fleas 
upon  their  backs  to  bite  'em,  and  little  fleas  have  lesser  fleas  and  so 
ad  infinitum.  He  is  the  galled  jade  and  winces,  even  as  the 
human  race  winces  under  Leprosy  and  War  and  Medicine  and 
Creeds  and  Stock-jobbing  and  the  Daily  Press.  But  these  afflic- 
tions may  not  exist  anywhere  else  in  the  Universe,  or  may  be 
qualified  down  to  endurance  point." 

"I  object,  Thorpe,"  struck  in  Professor  Absalom,  "to  your 
utilizing  a  conversation  which  is  not  without  an  element  of 
interest,  for  the  purpose  of  expressing  sarcastic  disapprovals  of 
favourite  bugbears.  Allow  me  to  remark  that  none  of  the  evils 
you  have  so  sweepingly  grouped  together  is  without  able  and 
thoughtful  advocates.  Perhaps  I  should  except  Leprosy,  the  ad- 
vantages of  which  (so  far  as  I  know)  have  never  been  pointed 
out.  And  as  for  Creeds,  Ghosts  in  Corpses  that  live  in  glass- 
houses shouldn't  throw  stones.  What  are  you  doing  now  but 
creed-mongering  ? " 

"  I  deny  it  in  toto,  Absalom.     I  have  been  illustrating  a  physical 


378  JOSEPH  VANCE 

fact,  and  recording  some  impressions  it  has  given  me  for  what 
they  are  worth.  I  have,  as  I  have  often  told  you,  no  creed  at  all 
except  my  belief  that  my  Cause  is  greater  than  my  Self.  Unless 
indeed  you  consider  a  belief  that  it  caused  your  three  Selves,  as 
well  as  mine,  another  creed.  If  so,  I  have  two;  but  as  I  regard 
myself  as  on  all  fours  with  the  balance  of  the  Universe  in  respect 
of  my  Causation,  I'll  allow  the  two — provided  you  acknowledge 
yourselves  part  of  the  Universe.  Perhaps  you  don't  ?  " 

We  looked  at  each  other  to  see,  but  decided  on  accepting  the 
position  of  effects  of  the  Doctor's  Cause. 

"  I  see  no  objection,"  said  the  Professor,  "  we  are  all  much  of  a 
muchness,  as  results.  But  I  foresee,  Thorpe,  that  you  will  have  to 
confess  to  a  third  creed  directly,  the  Infinity  of  your  Cause." 

"  It  isn't  a  creed !  It's  the  negation  of  a  creed — a  disbelief  in 
his  Finity.  I  don't  believe  the  Power  that  caused  Everything  Else 
is  limited,  although  my  amour  propre  is  (at  present)  hardly  suf- 
ficient to  make  me  ascribe  omnipotence  to  the  Cause  of  Me,  on  the 
ground  of  that  achievement  only.  My  modesty  permits  me  to 
imagine  a  Power  capable  of  causing  Me,  but  short  of  achieving 
Newton  or  Shakspere.  It  would  be  clever  and  capable,  no  doubt, 
but  clearly  limited." 

"  It's  all  no  good,  Thorpe !  You  are  creed-mongering,  and  may 
just  as  well  confess  it.  What  I  want  is  to  elicit  your  creed — not 
to  quarrel  over  terms.  What  is  the  end  of  Life,  and  what  is 
Death?  What  is  the  highest  good,  and  who  is  the  greatest  man? 
Answer  me  those  questions  before  the  two  clock-hands  are  in  line, 
and  then  it  will  be  an  hour  past  bedtime.  Put  an  end  to  this 
metaphysical  dissipation,  and  give  me  another  pinch  of  snuff." 

"  The  end  of  Life,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  is  beyond  its  powers  of 
knowledge.  Death  is  a  change  that  occurs  at  its  beginning.  The 
highest  good  is  the  growth  of  the  Soul,  and  the  greatest  man  is  he 
who  rejoices  most  in  great  fulfilments  of  the  will  of  God.  After 
that  I  deserve  another  pinch  myself.  Take  yours.  The  clock- 
hands  are  too  near  now  for  further  loquacity." 

"I  wonder  whet  the  Pater's  quooting  Tinnyson  about,"  said 
Beppino's  minced  accent.  He  had  come  in  unobserved.  "You 
didn't  quoote  it  quite  right  though,  Pater.  It  should  be  'He  is 
the  greatest  who  rejoices  most  in  great  fulfilments  of  the  Will  of 
God.' ' 

"  It's  not  Tennyson  at  all,"  said  Janey,  with  intrepidity.  Janey 
hated  Beppino,  and  he  for  his  part  distinguished  that  she  was  not 
his  sort.  He  tugged  at  his  moustache  and  said,  "  Oh  indeed !  "  I* 
sounded  exactly  as  if  some  one  else  had  said  "  Who  indeed !  *' 


JOSEPH  VANCE  379 

This  describes  his  pronunciation  very  closely.  He  added  that 
neturally  Mrs.  Joe  Vance  knew  Tennyson  a  great  deal  better  than 
he  did. 

"  I  don't  know  Tennyson  more  than  every  one  knows  Tenny- 
son," said  Janey.  "  That  is  to  say,  I've  read  him  almost  all  once, 
and  some  of  him  a  dozen  times.  But  I  can't  remember  a  lot  of  his 
blank  verse.  It's  not  that  that  I  go  by.  It  was  that  I  heard  your 
father  make  the  phrase  as  he  went,  and  hang  on  the  meaning. 
Come  now,  Mr.  Beppino,  if  you  know  where  it  is,  you  can  show 
it  us." 

"  It's  getting  rather  late,"  said  his  father.  "  But  there's  Tenny- 
son on  the  shelf."  And  Beppino  got  down  a  volume  with  con- 
fidence. He  could  put  his  finger  on  it  at  once ! 

"  Is  it  raining,  I  wonder  ? "  said  Janey.  "  Because  we  can  walk 
to  a  cab  if  it's  holding  up."  Beppino  remarked  that  it  was  beauti- 
ful moonlight  and  big  white  clouds  when  he  came  in,  but  had 
been  raining  heavily.  He  spoke  as  one  who  could  easily  fish  in 
Vivien  and  converse  at  the  same  time.  "  I  know  it's  here  some- 
where," said  he. 

"  I  shan't  forget  what  you've  been  saying  in  a  hurry,  Doctor," 
said  Janey.  "If  it's  Tennyson  I  shall  try  to  find  some 
more  like  it.  Perhaps  I  shall  find  all  about  Ghosts  and  Corpses 
too." 

"  Who,  gracious,"  murmured  Beppino,  still  searching.  "  'Ghosts 
9,nd  Corpses ! '  How  very  unkemf ortable.  It's  somewhere  here. 
£  know — who  yes ! — No,  it  isn't — Whoo,  I  know !  It's  here !  "  But 
it  wasn't.  The  Doctor  thought  he  would  go  to  bed — and  went, 
jfter  seeing  the  Professor  depart. 

"  Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  keep  you,"  said  Beppino.  u  But  I've 
just  got  it."  I  saw  a  malicious  twinkle  in  Janey's  eye. 

"  Oh  no !  We  like  going  to  bed  late,  you  can  always  get  up 
earlier  in  the  morning  to  make  up  for  it,  you  know.  Like  Charles 
£jamb.  Please  don't  hurry." 

"Ha,  ha!  That's  good!  Like  Charles  Lamb!"  Beppino's 
laugh  was  forced.  He  wasn't  shining.  "Here  it  is — I've  got  it 
at  last! — oh  no "  It  was  only  another  mistake. 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  Beppino,"  said  Janey,  "  you've  very  nearly  found 
It  so  often,  some  time  you're  sure  to  find  it  outright.  By-the-bye, 
Jacky  darling,  how  does  one  '  very  nearly '  find  a  quotation  ?  " 

"  What  a  shame,  Janey,"  said  I,  for  I  really  was  getting  sorry 
for  Beppino.  His  vexation  was  becoming  painful  to  witness. 

"  Oh  well ! "  said  he,  throwing  the  book  down,  "  if  you're  going 
lx>  be  nasty  I  won't  look  for  it  at  all." 


380  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  No — no !  We  won't  be  nasty ;  let's  all  sit  down  again  comfy 
at  the  fire,  and  you  bring  the  books." 

"  It's  hardly  worth  sitting  down  about,"  said  he.  "  Because  I 
know  exactly  where  it  is  now — what  a  fool  I  was  not  to  think  of 
it  before."  But  it  wasn't  there ! 

I  really  never  had  suspected  Janey  of  so  much  impishness. 
She  tortured  that  miserable  young  man  till  nearly  two  in  the 
morning.  She  would  have  kept  him  there  all  night,  I  do  believe, 
if  I  had  not  said  I  should  go  home  and  leave  them  to  settle  it 
their  own  way.  As  for  him  he  was  almost  crying  with  mortifica- 
tion. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Beppino,"  said  Janey ;  "  I  hope  your  admirers 
will  read  you  more  carefully  than  you  have  read  your  Tennyson." 

And  we  walked  out  into  the  glorious  moonlight  and  started  for 
home.  "  I  don't  mind  walking,"  said  she.  "  Look  at  those  cloud- 
mountains  over  there.  It's  slushy  underfoot,  but  that's  no 
matter." 

"  I  say,  Jilly  dear,"  said  I.  "  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self. Just  fancy ! " 

"  Well,  Jacky  darling,  the  more  snubbing  that  young  jackanapes 
gets  the  better  for  him!  I  never  feel  that  I  know  much  about 
him.  Sometimes  I  fancy  he  is  really  very  wicked.  But  I  hope 
he's  only  a  jackanapes.  Do  you  know  he  gave  me  an  odd  im- 
pression to-night,  coming  in  as  he  did  on  the  top  of  our  con- 
versation, of  being  only  a  Baby  inside — a  Baby's  Ghost  in  a  Man's 
Corpse !  I  wonder  what  he  was  like  as  a  Baby." 

"A  delightful  Baby,"  said  I,  "and  most  comic."  And  then  I 
remembered  how  vividly  Beppino,  in  his  vexation,  had  brought 
back  the  small  boy  of  long  ago,  glued  to  Lossie's  skirts.  Perhaps 
he  was  still  a  Baby,  overtaken  by  Manhood  ? 

"  He  was  comic  enough,  just  now,  when  he  was  in  such  a  rage," 
pursued  Janey.  "He  won't  forgive  me  easily.  But  I've  never 
been  popular  with  him.  I'm  not  a  Beauty,  am  I,  Jack  ? " 

"  No,  you're  very  ugly.     But  I  should  like  to  see  your  Ghost." 

"In  the  interests  of  Psychical  Research?  Well,  I'd  give  any- 
thing to  see  yours !  " 

"In  the  interests  of  Psychical  Research,  let's  asphyxiate  our- 
selves. Only  then  we  couldn't  publish  our  experiences." 

"  Jacky  dear,  be  serious !    I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise." 

"  All  right,  Jilly  dear.     Cut  away." 

"  Promise  me,  darling,  if  ever  I'm  a  Bogy,  and  you're  not,  that 
you  won't  grieve,  and  be  miserable.  Because  seeing  you,  and  not 
being  able  to  speak,  would  be  the  worst  of  all." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  381 

"  All  right,  love,  I'll  do  my  best.  Same  promise  to  hold  good  on 
your  side,  of  course." 

"  Of  course."  And  we  got  home  at  three  in  the  morning,  just 
escaping  a  heavy  downpour  by  jumping  into  a  cab  on  Clapham 
Common. 


CHAPTEK  XLI 

A   CHAPTER   THAT   HAD   TO   BE   WRITTEN. 

IF  you  remember  anything  of  the  great  wrecks  of  from  twenty 
to  thirty  years  ago  you  will  remember  the  spring  of  1874 — and  the 
news  that  reached  London  three  days  after  the  departure  from 
Southampton  of  the  Glascatherick  of  the  Glass  Line.  It  came 
from  a  Lighthouse  Station  on  the  Portuguese  Coast,  and  told  how 
the  great  ship  with  almost  all  on  board  had  gone  down  in  a  gale, 
having  foundered  on  a  reef  within  gunshot  of  the  coast.  Whether 
from  an  error  in  navigation,  from  misapprehension  of  the  Light- 
house, or  from  some  failure  of  the  engines,  no  one  ever  knew. 
The  few  who  survived  could  tell  nothing,  their  only  testimony 
being  that  the  voyage  had  all  gone  well  till  some  twelve  hours 
before  the  catastrophe,  when  the  glass  fell  steadily  and  the  wind 
rose  to  a  gale.  Some  time  after  midnight,  when  those  who  were 
sleeping  were  in  their  deepest  sleep,  came  a  sudden  stoppage  of  the 
screw,  shouted  orders  and  panic  of  aroused  alarm,  then  again  the 
screw  and  then  the  hideous  crash  as  the  ship  drove  stem  on  to 
the  rock  of  destruction.  Then  a  scene  utterly  indescribable, 
utterly  inconceivable,  by  those  who  have  never  known  the  like. 
Husbands  forsaking  wives,  and  fathers  children,  in  the  agony  of 
self-preservation,  strong  men  thrusting  weaker  ones  and  women 
aside  in  the  fight  for  the  boats;  Religious  Faith  stricken  with 
despair  and  screaming  with  terror  of  Death;  and  in  unexpected 
quarters,  sudden  Heroism.  Then  forlorn  hopes  of  departing  over- 
loaded boats,  the  cruel  task  of  choice  of  who  should  be  allowed  to 
go,  the  dreadful  cry  of  despair  as  they  swamped  before  the  eyes  of 
survivors.  And  then  the  terrible  word  of  the  strong  to  the  weak, 
who  look  to  them  for  help  to  the  last,  that  now  no  help  is  left  to  the 
powers  of  man.  If,  as  may  be,  those  that  die  pass  beyond  Death 
from  a  scene  like  this,  it  may  be  too  that  the  memory  of  it  is 
happily  short,  and  even  that  other  things  we  once  accounted  gain 
seem  worse,  a  thousand  times.  For  those  who  survive  there  is  no 
escape  from  the  knowledge  of  the  past,  and  the  memory  of  it  is 
present  with  them  till  the  end. 

Of  the  few  survivors  of  the  Glascatherick  almost  the  only  one  who 
could  give  any  coherent  particulars  was  a  young  engineer  who 


JOSEPH  VANCE  383 

with  his  wife  was  on  his  way  to  Italy.  He  told  how  she  and  he 
were  awaked  by  the  sudden  stoppage  of  the  screw,  followed  by  the 
roar  of  the  steam-trumpet,  and  heard  the  shouting  of  orders,  and 
strained  rapid  action  of  the  rudder  chains  which  passed  close  to 
their  berths.  Then  the  resumed  movement  of  the  machinery, 
which  he  was  able  to  recognize  as  reversed.  He  anticipated  col- 
lision with  another  ship,  thinking  that  to  a  certainty  land  was 
distant.  But  the  instant  after  came  the  crash,  and  he  knew  it  was 
a  rock. 

He  was  so  prompt  in  snatching  the  life-belts  from  the  cabin 
ceiling,  so  prompt  in  getting  them  on  to  himself  and  his  wife, 
that  when  they  made  for  the  stairway  leading  on  to  the  promenade 
deck  there  were  still  belated  sleepers  coming  out  of  their  cabins 
to  know  if  anything  was  the  matter.  Otherwise  he  could  only  tell 
that  they  reached  the  deck,  forcing  their  way  through  a  half- 
choked  passage,  that  the  officers  and  the  crew  were  even  then  un- 
lashing  the  boats  and  slacking  them  down  ready  for  those  who 
might  prefer  that  slender  chance  of  life  to  the  certainty  of  death. 
They  heard  the  voice  of  the  Captain  above  the  turmoil, — "  Women 
and  children  first — men  stand  back," — and  saw  him  knock  down  a 
man  who  thrust  himself  unduly  forward.  The  first  mate  came  to 
them  and  tried  to  persuade  the  lady  to  leave  her  husband  and  go 
in  the  first  boat,  but  she  refused.  "We  go  together,"  said  she, 
and  they  remained  and  saw  boat  after  boat  get  clear,  all  but  two 
that  were  swamped  almost  as  soon  as  they  touched  the  water. 
They  stayed  on  somewhile,  he  could  not  say  how  long,  after  the 
last  boat  had  gone,  and  then  the  ship  gave  a  lurch  and  seemed 
to  go  head  down — at  least,  said  he,  it  was  the  end  towards  the 
land. 

Then  the  first  mate  came  again  to  them  and  said,  "  Now  is  your 
time  to  go.  The  land  is  not  a  mile  away.  Good  luck  to  both ! " 
And  then  he  and  she  were  in  the  cold  dark  water.  The  life-belts 
floated  them  and  he  swam  with  her  left  hand  in  his.  The  wind 
had  fallen  and  the  sea  was  less,  and  he  was  not  without  hope. 
He  even  spoke  to  cheer  her,  and  she  replied — and  then  once  more. 
The  third  time  he  spoke  she  did  not  answer.  Still,  if  he  could 
only  reach  the  land!  He  himself  had  been  drowned  and  revived, 
and  that  made  him  hope. 

But  the  great  black  promontory  came  no  nearer,  to  all  seeming. 
And  the  hand  he  held  was  lifeless.  And  his  own  senses  were  fail- 
ing fast — and  then  his  power  died  in  his  own  hands,  and  he  could 
hold  hers  no  longer.  And  it  slipped  away  from  him  and  the  dark- 
ness closed  in  upon  him,  and  he  knew  no  more. 


384  JOSEPH   VANCE 

Why  do  I  write  all  this  of  this  young  Engineer  and  his  wife? 
Because  I  was  he,  and  she  was  Janey.  And  I  can  scarcely  bear 
to  write  or  think  of  that  dreadful  time;  and  could  not  bear  to 
speak  of  it,  now  that  I  cannot  see  Lossie,  and  Dr.  Thorpe  is  gone, 
to  any  living  creature.  Yet  it  is  twenty-three  years  this  Novem- 
ber— twenty-three  long  years! — since  I  passed  a  second  time 
through  the  shadow  of  Death,  and  was  a  second  time  dragged  back 
to  life  again — oh,  how  unwillingly!  at  a  monastery  on  the  coast 
of  Portugal  where  I  was  washed  ashore,  with  still  a  spark  of 
Life. 

Why  could  they  not  have  left  me  as  I  was?  "Ah,  mon  fils," 
said  a  very  old  Spanish  monk  who  could  speak  French,  "  si  on 
avait  su  que  c'ctait  ta  femme,  on  aurait  su  te  laisser  mourir." 
As  I  revived  slowly  my  first  words  had  been,  strangely  enough, 
"Is  the  child  safe?"  The  force  of  the  revived  sensation  had 
carried  me  back  to  the  old  days 'in  Devon,  and  I  was  again  asking 
after  Lossie's  boy.  Then  slowly  came  back  the  agony  of  life,  and 
I  began  to  understand  that  I  was  alone. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  I  recovered  more  than  the  merest 
fragments  of  speech.  It  was  not  grief — that  was  going  to  come 
later — but  a  complete  prostration  that,  perhaps  happily,  left  no 
room  for  grief.  I  could  only  pass  a  dumb,  stunned,  unquestioning 
existence.  I  believe  it  was  the  old  Padre  Pablo  who  set  going  the 
first  real  revival  of  conscious  life.  When  I  replied  to  him  that  I 
should  have  welcomed  death,  he  said:  "Je  le  comprends  bien.  Moi 
aussi,  j'ai  perdu  une  epouse.  Mais  pour  moi,  mon  fils,  c'etait  plus 

cruel "  He  paused  a  moment ;  then  continued :  "  Oui  vraiment, 

bien  plus  cruel!  Enfin,  c'est  moi-meme  qui  Pai  tuee."  And  then 
in  reply  to  my  look  of  surprise:  "Vous  ne  m'avez  pas  tout-a-fait 
compris,  mon  fils?  Je  parle  de  moi-meme.  Je  Pai  tuee."  He 
then  went  on  to  tell  how,  being  a  young  man  of  twenty,  he  had  had 
exactly  Othello's  experience,  but  never  knew  till  long  after  how 
groundless  his  jealousy  had  been.  He  had  fled,  and  it  was  sup- 
posed she  had  killed  herself.  "  C'etait  encore  pis  pour  moi,  mon 
fils,  que  pour  vous,"  he  repeated  quietly.  "Chaque  jour — chaque 
heure — j'entends  le  cri  de  ma  mourante.  J'ai  quatre-vingt-dix- 
neuf  ans.  Qa  me  durera  jusqu'a  la  mort." 

Nearly  eighty  years  I  The  blow  had  been  struck  in  Paris,  in  the 
days,  say,  of  the  Directory.  And  the  cry  of  his  murdered  vic- 
tim, so  Father  Paul  said,  and  I  believed  him,  had  never  died  away. 

A  day  elapsed  before  I  was  able  to  give  any  intelligible  account  of 
myself.  I  then  wrote  the  words  "On  shore  alone — tell  her  family," 
and  told  them  to  write  to  Macallister,  Chelsea,  England.  I  felt 


JOSEPH  VANCE  385 

that  would  be  sufficient — and  was  glad  to  be  brief,  for  exertion 
to  think  was  terrible,  and  torpor  alone  seemed  welcome.  I  then 
charged  Father  Paul  to  give  in  reply  to  official  enquiry  when  it 
came,  or  to  newsmongers,  simply  my  name  and  what  I  had  been 
able  to  tell  him  of  the  wreck,  and  then  resigned  myself  to  stupefac- 
tion. With  the  exception  of  a  few  words  with  him,  and  now  and 
then  thanks  for  some  expression  of  sympathy  in  an  unknown 
tongue,  from  the  others,  I  was  silent,  until  one  early  morning  as 
I  lay  awaiting  the  dawn  and  listening  to  the  long-drawn  thunder 
of  the  swell  on  the  precipice  below,  my  ear  was  caught  by  an  un- 
wonted sound  of  voices  that  came  nearer,  mixed  with  the  ring  of 
hoofs  upon  the  rock  road.  Was  one  of  the  voices  English,  or  not? 
No,  it  was  not!  Yes — surely  it  was!  And  it  said  loudly  and 
cheerfully,  as  one  who  encourages  another,  "Keep  up — keep  up — 
we  are  here  at  last." 

Then  I  remember  rising  from  the  couch  with  a  new  life,  and 
running  out  to  meet  Archie  Macallister,  and  then  my  brain  swam 
and  I  tottered  forward.  He  was  just  in  time  to  catch  me  as  I 
fell,  and  he  picked  me  up  and  carried  me  back  like  a  child.  Then 
I  remember  lying  again  on  the  bed,  having  found  my  own  weak- 
ness, and  seeing  on  one  side  of  me  Bony,  and  on  the  other  her 
father.  I  have  told  enough. 

Man  has  to  live,  or  die.  If  he  chooses  the  former,  he  has  to  dis- 
cover a  modus  vivendi  after  any  crushing  blow.  According  to  my 
experience,  strong  natures  invest  their  capital,  so  to  speak,  in  self- 
defence,  but  make  up  their  minds  to  a  long  siege.  I  knew,  even 
as  Father  Paul  knew  that  the  cry  of  the  dying  woman  would  last 
till  death,  that  I  should  have  to  live  with  the  touch  of  my  darling's 
rings  on  the  fingers  of  my  left  hand  as  hers  slipped  away  for  ever. 
But  I  had  to  find  out  a  way  of  doing  it,  and  I  think  I  was  as  brave 
as  most. 

My  partner,  and  her  father,  both  of  whom  had  left  the  conduct 
of  business  matters  in  good  hands,  were  able  to  stay  on  with  me 
for  a  while.  It  may  seem  strange,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  get  away 
from  the  sea  that  had  engulfed  her.  It  presented  itself  to  me 
only  as  the  scene  of  our  last  farewell.  And  the  last  words  she  said 
were  still  in  my  ears.  "  Now,  Jacky,  recollect !  "  and  then  when  I 
next  spoke,  no  answer  came. 

What  was  it  that  I  was  to  recollect  ?  It  was  a  promise,  repeated 
more  than  once  after  I  made  it  when  we  walked  that  time  from 
Poplar  Villa  after  Beppino's  literary  collapse;  repeated  in  the 
ship's  cabin  as  I  drew  the  life-belt  on,  repeated  again  in  the  water 


386  JOSEPH  VANCE 

that  drowned  her.  A  promise  not  to  grieve  should  she  go  first, 
lest  it  should  break  her  heart  to  see  my  grief.  "Promise  again," 
she  had  said,  and  I  replied,  "I  promise,  my  darling."  It  was  a 
promise  easy  to  make — but  oh,  how  hard  to  keep! 

Which  is  the  worst  off,  I  wonder — the  one  that  is  left,  or  the 
one  that  is  gone — the  one  that  sees  no  longer  or  the  one  that  still 
sees,  or  it  may  be  sees  more  than  ever  before?  If  there  be  risk 
of  this,  how  well  worth  the  effort  to  hang  as  lightly  as  may  be 
on  the  new-found  freedom  of  the  departed!  Of  what  profit  to 
oneself  is  the  indulgence  of  grief  at  the  best?  Of  how  much 
less  if  each  pang  adds  a  new  pang  to  other  pain  elsewhere. 

It  was  all  such  speculation,  and  the  darkness  seems  so  real  to 
him  who  only  guesses  in  the  dark  at  an  unseen  sun.  But  a 
promise  was  a  promise,  and  I  fought  hard  and  truly  to  keep  mine. 
There  was  no  fear  of  my  succeeding  too  well. 

It  was  I  then,  and  neither  of  my  companions,  who  may  be  said 
to  have  taken  the  lead  towards  a  resumption  of  life — the  life  we 
had  to  finish  with  before  each  could  get  on  to  his  extinction  or 
his  knowledge  of  the  next.  It  took  me  a  week  of  nursing  and 
another  of  convalescence  before  I  was  able  to  look  plans  for  the 
future  in  the  face.  Had  it  not  been  for  my  companions  I  might 
have  stayed  on  indefinitely,  wandering  about  and  watching  the  great 
white  rollers  live  their  life  and  die.  I  had  no  definite  expectation 
of  any  trace  of  the  body,  but  I  suppose  some  such  thought  made 
part  of  my  motives.  I  was,  however,  distinctly  relieved  when  I 
heard  that,  though  so  near  the  shore,  the  ship  was  in  such  deep 
water  that  no  attempt  at  salvage  would  be  made.  I  had  dreaded 
and  avoided  details  of  the  wreck  as  much  as  possible.  It  is  still 
rather  strange  to  me  why  I  found  it  so  hard  to  break  away.  But 
there  was  Bony,  and  there  was  her  Father.  I  knew  they  would 
not  go  and  leave  me.  Neither  would  they,  either  of  them,  begin 
upon  the  task  of  settling  the  future.  So  I  took  the  matter  into 
my  own  hands. 

u  I  say,  Bony,"  said  I.    "  Jeannie  will  want  you  back." 

"  Yes,  old  chap,  we'll  settle  all  that  presently.  What  a  queer  old 
boy  the  old  Padre  is ! " 

"You  had  better  take  care — he  understands  some  English.  Do 
you  know,  in  his  novitiate,  or  something  of  that  sort,  he  passed 
a  year  at  a  place  near  London  called  Foolham.  Do  you  know 
it?" 

"  I  know  there  is  now  an  establishment  of  Catholics  at  Fulham, 
but  I  should  hardly  have  thought  it  was  so  old." 

"  He  speaks  of  another  at  Amsmeedza.    Do  you  know  that  one  ? " 


JOSEPH  VANCE  387 

"  The  one  at  Hammersmith  may  be  older.  But  they  can't  be 
older  than  the  century.  He  is." 

"  Five-and-twenty  years  older.  More.  He  was  actually  living 
in  Paris,  and  married,  in  the  days  of  the  National  Convention — 
before  Napoleon — before  everything." 

"  I  didn't  know  Monks  married." 

"He  wasn't  a  Monk  then.  He  became  one  after  her  death. 
Don't  be  frightened,  Bony,  I  won't  become  a  Monk." 

Poor  Bony  1  I  could  not  break  down.  He  could,  and  did.  When 
he  spoke  again  I  could  hear  it  in  his  voice. 

"  Perhaps  it  wasn't  in  his  novitiate  he  was  at  Fulham.  It  may 
have  been  later." 

"  Very  likely !    When  he  told  me,  I  wasn't  quite  so " 

"  I  understand." 

"As  I  am  now.  But,  Bony  dear,  you  have  got  off  from  the 
point.  Jeannie  will  want  you  back." 

"Yes — and  you  too.  I  know  what  you  are  driving  at,  Part- 
ner. You  want  to  run  away,  and  travel  about  and  distract  your 
mind  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  Partner."  We  called  each  other  "part- 
ner "  by  fits  and  starts,  unreasonably.  "  I  mean  to  do  exactly 
whatever  Janey  likes." 

Bony  looked  anxious.  He  felt  my  hand  to  see  if  it  was  hot. 
He  felt  my  pulse  to  see  if  it  was  quick.  Neither  was  either.  He 
gave  up  diagnosis.  But  he  couldn't  accept  the  form  of  my  speech 
without  a  protest. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,  dear  old  chap.  Exactly  what  Janey  would 
like  if  she  were  here.  Quite  right." 

But  the  form  of  a  hypothesis  did  not  suit  my  mood.  "  Exactly 
what  Janey  likes  if  she  is  here,"  said  I,  obstinately;  and  Bony 
replied  as  one  who  yields  to  a  patient's  whim,  "  All  right,  old  boy." 

He  was  so  gently  acquiescent  to  my  every  impulse,  that  I  felt 
I  had  been  dictatorial  and  overbearing.  So  I  thought  I  would 
Boften  it  by  discussing  hypotheses. 

"  Do  you  remember  old  Dr.  Serocold  of  Magdalen  ?  Oh  no — of 
course,  you  were  at  Cambridge.  How  one  forgets ! "  And  Bony 
asked  what  about  the  old  party,  nevertheless? 

"  Only  what  we  were  saying  made  me  think  of  the  nature  of 
an  hypothesis — and  of  course  that  made  me  think  of  old  Sero- 
cold. When  I  told  him  how  long  it  took  to  scull  to  Iffley  and 
back,  he  twinkled  and  said  he  supposed  Iffley  was  the  place  where 
they  made  the  hypotheses." 

Another  time  I  should  have  followed  this  on  with  more  of  old 


888  JOSEPH   VANCE 

Dr.  Serocold's  absurd  sayings.  But  now  I  was  aware  of  a  web  of 
strange  filaments  of  pain  that  kept  my  eyes  dim  and  my  lips  still, 
and  I  knew  I  could  not  laugh.  I  plunged  straight  back  into  the 
heart  of  the  conversation. 

"  Grant  it's  a  billion  to  one  against  Janey  hearing  and  seeing 
me  now.  It's  better  to  catch  at  that  chance  and  be  mistaken  than 
to  neglect  it  and  find  my  mistake  after.  I  know  what  she  would 
say,  almost  as  if  she  said  it.  '  Think  of  the  Lord  Chancellor/ n 
This  was  the  name  we  had  got  into  the  way  of  calling  her  Father. 
"  That's  what  I  shall  do.  Look  at  him  out  there." 

Poor  old  Spencer  did  not  look  the  same  man.  The  prosperous, 
responsible  lawyer  that  had  bid  Janey  and  me  Godspeed  less  than 
three  weeks  since  had  disappeared,  and  now  a  broken-down  old 
man  wandered  some  fifty  yards  from  where  we  sate  on  the  cliff- 
side,  looking  out  over  the  sea.  He  had  a  pocket  telescope  with 
which  he  scanned  the  horizon  and  the  rock  island  some  miles  out, 
or  the  nearer  rocks  below.  Whether  he  thought  to  detect  a  sad 
addition  to  the  scraps  of  scattered  wreck  that  were  still  left,  which 
would  have  been  his  and  mine  to  claim,  I  know  not.  But  he 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  this  way,  and  did  not  seem  to  care 
for  talk.  Janey  had  been  his  special  daughter,  and  his  heart  was 
wrapped  up  in  her.  Sarry  had  practically  vanished  to  Colombo, 
only  reappearing  at  intervals.  His  wife  was  nil.  I  saw  that  his 
decadence  had  begun.  As  I  finished  speaking  to  Bony,  he  looked 
over  to  the  grief -worn  figure  that  made,  upon  a  rock-eminence 
near  us,  a  silhouette  against  the  sea. 

"  Yes/'  said  he.  "  The  journey  was  awful.  Too  much  for  the 
old  gentleman.  I  thought  I  shouldn't  ever  get  him  here ! " 

"  Oh,  Bony !    What  a  job  you  must  have  had !  " 

"It  was  pretty  stiff.  But  we  got  here,  somehow.  It  will  be 
a  lot  easier  to  go  back." 

"  But  you  see  what  I  mean.  Janey  would  like  me  to  keep 
near  him." 

"  I  expect  she  would  be  right.  All  go  back  together — eh,  Joe  ? " 
and  I  assented. 

I  can  well  remember  how  desperately  weak  I  was  as  Bony  helped 
me  up  the  steep  pathway  when  we  returned  to  the  Monastery, 
not  four  hundred  yards  away.  And  how  a  thought  crossed  my 
mind,  as  I  leaned  on  his  strong  arm,  that  had  I  not  been  eight 
months  his  senior  it  would  have  gone  ill  with  me  in  the  old 
days  at  St.  Withold's.  But  it  all  seemed  a  dream,  and  I  had 
hardly  strength  to  think — least  of  all  of  the  great  riddle  of  time 
a»d  change.  I  let  the  memory  slip  from  mere  fatigue. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  389 

"You  sit  down  a  minute,  Joe,  while  I  go  back  and  lend  Mr. 
Spencer  a  hand,"  said  Bony.  But  just  then  Father  Paul's  voice 
came  from  behind  us,  saying,  "  Permettez,  Messieurs.  Je  suis  assez 
fort,  malgre  mon  age,"  and  offered  me  his  arm  on  my  right. 
Seeing  that  I  had  looked  round  to  my  left,  as  expecting  him 
to  come  on  that  side,  he  added  explanatorily:  "Voici  ma  main 
forte — a  gauche — la  mano  izquierda.  J'ai  toujours  ete  gaucher 
ce  que  nous  nonimons  ici — nous  autres — zurdo."  And  then  my 
weak  mind,  stirring  again  towards  its  old  zest  for  inquiry,  must 
needs  be  thinking  how  long  was  it  before  that  deadly  battle  at 
Helstaple  that  this  other  hand  I  leaned  on  had  struck  the  life 
out  of  the  helpless  girl.  Half  a  century,  and  more,  though  I 
could  not  fix  the  figure.  Surely  this  old  man  had  expiated  his 
crime!  But  my  mind  reeled  again,  and  fell  baffled  from  the 
thought. 

And  Father  Paul  himself  might  be  as  little  in  my  memory 
now  as  any  of  the  crowd  of  monks  who  gathered  to  bid  us  fare- 
well a  fortnight  later  (I  could  not  move  sooner)  but  that  he 
himself  was  not  among  then.  He  had  got  his  release.  And 
the  last  I  saw  of  him  was  what  lay  on  a  wooden  pallet  under  a 
huge  crucifix  in  the  cell  to  which  they  summoned  me  to  see 
the  Padre,  who  had  died  in  the  night.  That  was  what  had  held 
him  near  upon  a  century ;  and  now  it  seemed  an  effigy  in  alabaster, 
small  and  clear-cut,  on  which  the  hand  that  had  struck  the  blow 
eighty  years  since  lay  moveless.  The  ears  had  heard  for  the  last 
time  the  cry  of  the  murdered  woman,  and  Father  Paul  himself 
knew  very  much  more,  or  verily  nothing. 

And  I  said  to  myself,  but  in  vain,  that  my  own  lot,  matched 
against  his,  should  seem  happy.  To  go  with  my  darling  to  the 
vei^y  gate  of  death,  to  know  above  all  that  I  had  shared  every  pang 
to  ^the  moment  of  parting1,  that  what  she  had  suffered  I  had  suf- 
fered, that  her  last  words  still  reached  me  almost  like  a  voice  from 
the  other  side — was  I  not  surely  the  better  off  of  the  two?  At 
any  rate,  if  no  consolation  came  from  thinking  another  worse  off 
than  I  was,  the  pity  for  him  took  me  out  of  myself  and  gave  me 
a  better  courage  to  look  back  on  the  past  and  forward  to  the 
days  to  coma 


CHAPTER  XLII 

JOE  IS  A  WIDOWER.  A  TENANTLESS  OLD  HOUSE.  HOW  HE  WENT  TO  DR. 
THORPE;  AND  OF  A  CHILD  THAT  WAS  SAVED  ON  THE  WRECK.  THE 
SYMPATHY  OF  BEPPINO.  A  GOOD  IDEA !  WHY  NOT  TAKE  BEPPINO  TO 

ITALY? 

ONE  accepts  a  widower,  as  a  prosaic  incident  among  one's  sur- 
roundings, with  unquestioning  content.  Of  course  Mr.  Smith's 
a  widower!  It's  a  way  other  people  have — you  are  not  going  to 
be  a  widower  yourself — you  know  better! 

I  don't  think  that  brides  feel  nearly  so  confident  of  never  being 
widows  as  bridegrooms  that  they  will  never  be  widowers.  My 
experience  is  that  women  look  the  facts  of  life  in  the  face  better 
than  men,  not  only  in  this  but  in  all  things.  Man  is  a  sanguine, 
imaginative  animal — perhaps  necessarily  so.  All  sorts  of  things 
have  to  be  done  by  men  in  life  that  involve  the  use  of  intentional 
hope  as  a  means  of  self-deception.  Man  has  to  obtain  shareholders, 
and  negotiate  loans,  and  form  syndicates,  and  do  many  things 
of  the  same  sort  which  a  prosaic  and  unimaginative  animal  would 
fight  shy  of.  He  goes  into  the  Battle  of  Life  confident  of  vic- 
tory, even  as  the  warrior  on  another  field  is  confident.  Perhaps 
neither  would  go  into  battle  at  all  sometimes,  if  he  were  not.  And 
then  everything  would  slump. 

So  if  each  man  had  not  an  inner  conviction  that  other  people 
would  lose  their  wives,  but  not  he — well!  would  any  man  dare  to 
marry?  Or  would  he  not,  if  he  married,  seek  for  some  mate  he 
would  be  glad  to  be  rid  of?  Would  he  not  shudder  at  all  Love 
except  the  sort  that  never  lasts?  Would  he  not  rejoice  and  be 
merry  when  Mrs.  Smith  was  not  dowm  to  breakfast,  and  when  he 
came  home  wet  and  tired  and  disheartened  to  find  that  Mrs. 
Smith  had  not  waited  dinner  for  him,  but  had  gone  to  an  inter- 
esting lecture,  would  he  not  hug  himself  and  be  happy  and  say 
that  now  here  was  a  chance  of  a  real  comfortable  evening?  By 
assiduous  cultivation  of  this  attitude  of  mind  he  would  avoid 
a  possibly  overwhelming  grief  for  himself,  and  by  affording  a 
stimulus  to  a  reciprocal  feeling  on  the  part  of  his  wife,  would 

390 


JOSEPH  VANCE  391 

fortify  her  to  endure  his  loss  with  resignation,  and  to  look  for- 
ward to  it  with  equanimity. 

If  I  had  to  live  my  life  over  again,  with  the  foreknowledge  of 
what  was  to  come,  should  I  dare  to  put  my  head  into  the  lion's 
mouth,  as  I  did?  For  I  had  to  acknowledge  to  myself  with  shame 
when  it  was  all  over  that  I  was  not  more — or  say,  not  much  more — 
than  half  in  love  with  Janey  when  I  first  made  up  my  mind 
that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  that  we  should  be  a  couple  and 
have  an  establishment.  A  good  thing  for  both  of  us,  mind  you! 
— for  my  magnanimity  decided  on  unselfishness  (within  reason- 
able limits)  as  being  demanded  by  self-respect. 

And  yet  I  feel  I  am  wrong  to  think  thus  bitterly  of  my  old 
self.  How  many  a  young  man,  after  such  a  shock  as  I  had 
experienced,  would  have  brought  a  much  more  damaged  piece 
of  goods  into  the  market  than  the  one  I  offered  Janey!  And 
if  none  but  undamaged  goods  were  for  sale  in  that  market,  how 
many  weddings  would  there  be  in  a  twelvemonth? 

Yet  in  a  sense  it  served  me  right — though  it  was  hard  measure 
regarded  as  retribution  for  a  trivial  disloyalty,  a  slight  hesitation, 
that  I  should  lose  at  a  crash  what  had  grown  dearer  to  me  day 
by  day,  from  the  beginning.  What  did  it  matter,  to  put  it  plainly, 
that  I  was  still  very,  very  fond  of  Lossie  when  I  asked  Janey 
to  take  over  the  empty  tenement  she  could  never  occupy  ?  It  went 
by  veries,  said  Janey,  the  little  girl  that  sucked  the  peppermint 
drop,  and  with  Janey  the  woman  it  went  very  quickly  by  veries. 
Could  I  count  them  at  all  as  we  stood  on  the  ship  and  watched 
the  sun  go  down  on  that  evening  of  the  wreck — the  sun  that  never 
rose  for  her  again? 

But  I  did  put  my  head  in  a  lion's  mouth!  I  fancied — how 
many  boys  of  my  age  have  thought  the  same  with  far  less  rea- 
son— that  things  were  at  an  end  for  me  when  Lossie,  who 
had  filled  every  corner  of  my  life  from  the  moment  she  kissed 
the  Man's  Boy  in  the  pantry  till  that  earlier  shipwreck  of  mine 
at  Oxford,  was  suddenly  withdrawn  and  left  the  dilapidated  house 
to  let.  And  then  when  the  new  tenant  took  possession,  and  even 
(if  the  metaphor  holds  good)  took  over  some  of  the  old  tenant's 
fixtures,  and  the  new  paper  came  upon  the  walls,  and  the  whole 
place  was  sweet  with  the  smell  of  flowers,  and  the  song  of  birds 
in  the  Summer,  and  the  fires  blazed  on  the  hearth  in  the  Winter 
*— even  then  I  formed  no  image  in  my  mind  of  what  that  house 
would  be  like  next  time  it  was  in  the  market.  The  tenant  left 
suddenly,  and  the  house  has  stood  undwelt  in.  The  shutters  to 
the  street  are  closed  and  the  windows  broken;  but,  could  you  see 


392  JOSEPH  VANCE 

in,  you  would  still  see  the  old  furniture,  just  as  she  left  it—- 
you would  see  too  that  the  old  tenant's  fixtures  remain  there  still. 
But  it  is  dark  and  silent;  and  the  gas  and  water  are  cut  off, 
and  there  is  no  bill  up  to  say  it  is  To  Let.  Offers  have  come 
for  it,  chiefly  from  Agents,  but  the  door  has  never  been  opened 
since  the  day  of  her  departure,  except  once  or  twice  to  show  old 
friends  a  picture  or  a  piece  of  furniture.  None  knows  where  the 
tenant  is  gone,  but  I  suspect  the  next  street; — and  then  my 
metaphor  is  quite  at  fault,  for  the  house  is  my  heart, 
and  my  heart  goes  out  to  seek  her,  and  the  house  could 
not.  This  metaphorical  house,  though,  supplies  me  with  some- 
thing I  need.  Those  old  tenant's  fixtures  still  form  part 
of  my  life,  and  give  me  a  way  of  thinking  and  speaking  of  my 
feeling  towards  Lossie  after  Janey  left  me,  that  I  might  fail 
otherwise  to  find.  I  had  no  heart  to  make  new  confidences,  and 
I  wrote  to  Lossie  as  freely  of  my  loss  as  I  had  spoken  to  Janey 
of  my  old  love  for  Lossie.  I  felt  all  through  that  they  two  and 
I  should  understand  each  other,  whatever  the  regulation  attitude 
in  such  a  case  made  and  provided  might  be.  I  can  remember  dimly 
how  I  began  my  letter  to  Lossie  that  I  wrote  from  San  Joaquim's. 
It  was  more  like  a  wish  that  I  could  be  with  her  to  help  her  to 
bear  the  news  I  had  to  tell  than  a  wish  that  she  could  be  with 
me  to  comfort  me.  With  most  correspondents  I  have  always  re- 
read every  sentence  to  see  that  it  was  right.  Generally  I  never 
reconsidered  anything  with  Lossie,  and  wrote  straight  off.  This 
time  I  read  and  re-read,  thinking  to  myself,  tl  Will  that  give  her 
the  idea  that  I  have  broken  down  and  cannot  bear  my  unhap- 
piness?"  I  did  not  write  really  to  tell  her  news  that  I  knew 
would  have  reached  her  already,  but  to  do  what  I  could  to  allevi- 
ate the  blow  that  I  knew  my  calamity  must  be  to  her.  To  Dr. 
Thorpe  I  wrote  otherwise.  It  was  an  odd  letter,  and  not  one 
I  would  have  cared  that  any  but  the  Doctor  should  see.  I  can- 
not recall  the  words,  but  I  have  still  his  own  letter  in  return, 
which  reached  me  just  before  leaving  the  Monastery.  Here  it  is, 
twenty-three  years  old: 

"MY  DEAR  OLD  JOE:  Never  was  a  braver  letter  written  than 
yours.  All  is  right.  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  don't  believe  one  of  us 
has  any  idea  how  well  God  is  going  to  manage  it.  Leave  it  all  in 
his  hands. 

"  I  too  had  a  hard  fight  for  it,  and  thought  I  must  give  in.  But 
I  didn't,  though  I  had  to  tell  two  baby  girls  that  their  mother  was, 
as  the  phrase  is,  no  more.  I  know,  dear  boy,  my  trial  was  not  to 


JOSEPH  VANCE  393 

be  compared  with  yours — it  was  all  in  the  day's  work,  and  only 
what  comes  to  many.  But  it  was  hard  to  look  those  children  in 
the  face  too,  that  day  at  their  Granny's.  Poor  little  Loss!  I  re- 
member how  she  came  out  and  looked  up  at  me. 

"  I  have  to  cut  this  down  to  a  short  line,  to  make  sure  of  it  catch- 
ing you — the  last  possible  post,  as  I  make  out,  is  going  in  half-an- 
hour.  Believe  me,  all  is  right,  is  right,  is  right.  That  story  of 
the  Padre  seems  to  me  as  terrible  as  anything  I  ever  heard — of 
course  I  shan't  repeat  it. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"RANDALL  THORPE." 

I  had  had  a  10ng  letter  from  him  before,  which  mine  was  a 
reply  to.  It  must  have  been  written  after  the  Padre  had  told 
me  his  story.  I  feel  in  a  mist  about  it  all  now.  Little  wonder! 

I  am  writing  all  this,  as  I  have  said,  for  myself  alone,  and 
with  only  a  vague  idea,  to  give  it  working  plausibility,  that  you 
will  one  day  read  it!  So  I  do  not  copy  all  the  letters  I  have 
kept,  but  place  some  of  them  in  the  MS.  uncopied.  I  do  so 
with  the  first  letter  I  received  from  Lossie  after  my  wife's  death, 
and  also  the  second,  which  came  in  answer  to  mine  announcing 
it.  Lady  Desprez's  letters  are  more  illegible  than  Lossie  Thorpe's, 
and  somewhat  difficult  to  read,  but  worth  deciphering  by  any  one 
who  cares  at  all  about  following  this  narrative. 

I  began  this  chapter  with  some  kind  of  notion  of  helping  myself 
to  realize  the  difference  of  my  surroundings  in  Chelsea  and  at 
Poplar  Villa  when  I  came  back  from  Portugal.  I  had  started 
six  weeks  before  in  full  health,  in  the  prime  of  early  manhood, 
in  great  spirits  at  an  anticipated  holiday  trip,  and  by  my  side 
the  dear  woman  whom  I  loved,  my  companion  in  all  things.  What 
I  saw  in  the  little  mirror  in  the  hansom  in  which  I  rode  to  Pop- 
lar Villa  the  day  after  my  arrival  late  at  night  in  Chelsea  was 
a  man  ten  years  older,  broken  down  and  ill.  And  when  I  paid 
the  cabby  I  saw  that  he  remembered  having  driven  me  before,  and 
that  then  there  was  another  fare. 

The  little  mirror  in  the  cab  brought  back  to  my  mind  that  other 
young  man  I  saw  in  the  glass  at  Oxford.  Was  it  he,  come  to  life  ? 
He  had  been  very  much  in  abeyance  during  all  my  happy  days 
in  Chelsea.  But  here  he  was  again,  posing  as  a  correct  widower; 
while  I  knew  in  my  innermost  heart,  though  I  dared  not  know 
it  aloud,  that  all  that  was  must  be  right,  however  little  I  could 
understand  it.  There  was  he  straining  that  foolish  limited  mind 
of  his  to  grasp  something  beyond  the  reach  of  our  conception 


394  JOSEPH   VANCE 

of  Infinity,  now  and  again  almost  crying  out  aloud  with  the  pain 
when  some  happy  memory  reached  him  out  of  the  past,  destroying 
in  the  lonely  silence  of  the  night  the  sleep  I  could  have  slept, 
but  for  him.  I  pointed  out  to  him  again  and  again  that  Janey 
might  be  seeing  it  all,  and  the  misery  his  cowardice  would  occa- 
sion her.  But  it  was  useless.  So  I  said  to  him :  "  Very  well,  then 
— you  be  a  widower !  But  when  I  am  talking  to  Dr.  Thorpe  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  you  not  to  intrude  your  vernacular  ideas,  and  your 
tedious  complaints  of  the  darkness  of  the  night,  but  to  make  way 
for  the  voice  of  the  watchers  who  believe  in  the  dawn;  and  then 
you  and  I  can  talk  about  it  afterwards."  He  promised  to  do  his 
best,  but  when  it  came  to  the  proof,  and  the  Doctor's  voice  in 
the  old  unchanged  library  said,  "Oh,  Joey — my  poor  boy — my  poor 
boy !"  and  could  speak  no  more,  he  broke  utterly  down,  and  could 
only  hide  his  face  away  in  silence,  still  holding  the  Doctor's  hand, 
till  I  fairly  forced  him  to  the  effort,  and  one  or  two  words  came. 
I  wanted  him  to  say  that  he  would  be  all  right  directly,  and  that 
it  was  only  just  at  first.  I  wanted  the  Doctor  to  realize  that 
he  was  misrepresenting  me.  We  got  steady  in  time,  and  then 
the  Doctor  and  I  were  sitting  talking  in  the  old  place  where  we 
and  Janey  had  sat  and  talked  such  a  short  time  back. 

"No,  Doctor.  It  doesn't  hurt  me  to  talk.  It's  good  for  me. 
What  was  I  saying — about  the  ship  ?  Well !  you  know  there  wasn't 
the  slightest  reason  for  apprehension.  Oh  yes — the  glass  had 
fallen,  but  the  rough  weather  was  nothing — nobody  troubles  about 
that  in  a  twin-screw  of  seven  thousand  tons'  displacement.  My 
opinion  is  they  mistook  the  lighthouse  for  the  one  on  the  island 
ten  miles  out,  and  thought  they  were  steering  for  the  channel,  and 
of  course  it  was  the  mainland — no  one  will  ever  know." 

"  How  many  did  reach  the  land  ?  " 

"Very  few.  Probably  I  know  less  about  that  than  they  will 
tell  me  at  the  Company's  Office.  I  shall  go  over  to-morrow.  There 
were  two  or  three  little  girls  saved.  I  particularly  wished  to  know 
about  one.  The  reason  so  little  is  known  about  the  cause  is  that 
the  Captain  and  all  the  officers  went  down  with  the  ship.  The 
only  men  who  got  away  were  the  boat's  crews,  and  they  could 
tell  very  little." 

"  What  was  the  little  girl  ? " 

"Rosamond  Fox — oh  no!  Those  other  people  were  Fox.  She 
was  one  of  that  Daniels  lot.  It's  all  just  like  a  dream  now.  She 
was  a  little  thing  of  four,  and  Janey  had  been  playing  with  her 
all  day.  I  had  been  playing  chess — I  played  six  games  that  day 
• — then  it  began  blowing  and  we  all  went  to  bed." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  395 

"  But  the  little  girl— why  did  you " 

"  Want  to  know  about  her  more  than  the  others  2  Why,  because 
when  Janey  and  I  came  out  with  those  cork  things  on  us  we  saw 
the  little  thing  in  the  passage.  She  said,  'take  me/  and  Janey 
wanted  to,  but  we  couldn't.  It  would  have  been  useless.  Besides 
it  looked  as  if  her  father  had  left  her  there  and  meant  to  come 
back.  That's  the  worst  of  a  wreck,  you  can  do  nothing  for  any 
one  else.  No  one  can  have  any  conception  of  what  it  means  who 
has  not  seen  it." 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  said  he ;  "I  can  find  the  newspapers.  I've 
kept  them  all."  And  he  found  one  with  a  list  of  passengers.  "  Let's 
see — what  name  did  you  say — Daniels  ?  Dax — Dannicker — Duport. 
No — there's  no  Daniels  at  all." 

"Mistake,  I  suppose.  Is  there  nothing  anywhere  of  people 
saved?" 

"  Oh  yes !  It's  here,  only  I  haven't  got  it  yet.  Here  it  is !  Oh 
Joe — how  good !  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  jumping  up  from  my  chair  and  going  to  look 
myself.  "  You  don't  mean " 

"Yes,  I  do.  It  wasn't  Daniels — it  was  Dannicker.  Rosamond 
Dannicker.  Look  here ! "  And  as  well  as  I  could  for  tremulous 
hurry  and  half -blinded  eyes,  I  read  that  the  little  girl  saved  in  the 
first  boat  (the  only  one  not  lost)  was  so  named,  but  could  not 
be  identified  at  first,  as  she  only  knew  herself  as  Rosie,  and  no 
other  evidence  was  then  forthcoming.  "  She  was  saved  by  the 
merest  chance,"  said  the  paper,  "  if  the  narrative  of  so  young  a 
child  can  be  trusted.  It  seems  that  her  mother,  who  refused  to 
go  herself,  preferring  to  remain  and  die  with  her  husband,  asked 
the  chief  mate  to  place  her  in  the  boat.  This  is  our  interpretation 
of  the  child's  report  of  what  he  said,  as  he  picked  her  up,  '  Mother 
says  you're  to  come  now — she  and  father  will  come  together/  " 

The  recollection  of  this  baby  as  I  forced  Janey  to  leave  it  had 
been  one  of  my  worst  nightmare  memories  of  all. 

"Thank  God  for  that,  at  any  rate!"  said  I.  "It  has  given 
me  one  pleasant  thing  to  think  of.  I  shall  hear  more  about  it 
at  the  Office  to-morrow."  And  I  lit  a  pipe  that  I  might  sit  and 
caress  this  little  consolation.  The  Doctor  looked  very  happy  over 
it.  It  was  something  to  breathe  with,  he  said. 

Then,  as  I  sat  there  smoking,  more  came  back.  I  could  see  as 
in  a  dream  Janey  and  myself  waiting  under  the  shelter  of  a 
bulkhead — could  hear  her  say,  "We  go  together."  But  surely 
there  was  something  else  she  said,  and  pointed  through  to  the 
inner  stairway,  where  we  had  left  little  Rosie — and  surely  the 


396  JOSEPH  VANCE 

officer  nodded  and  left  us,  going  straight  for  the  place.  We  hardly 
saw  him  after,  and  you  may  wonder  that  we  did  not — but  I  tell 
you  again,  you  have  no  conception  of  what  it  was.  I  could  see 
it  all,  in  one  sense,  more  plainly  as  I  sat  there  smoking  than  I  did 
at  the  time. 

"It  wasn't  her  mother,  Doctor,"  said  I.  "It  was  Janey  told 
the  Mate  where  she  was."  And  I  told  him  the  story,  adding  that 
of  course  he  took  us  for  the  parents.  "  He  easily  might — First 
Mates  don't  learn  the  passengers  by  heart." 

"  What  became  of  the  mother?  " 

"Heaven  knows!  I  know  about  the  father,  though — I  saw  him 
try  to  scramble  into  the  first  boat,  and  the  Captain  caught  him 
by  the  collar  and  flung  him  across  the  deck.  He's  no  loss!  He 
was  a  red-faced,  burly  man — one  of  those  chaps  there  always  are 
on  ships,  who  sit  in  the  smoking-room  when  they're  not  eating, 
and  imbibe  goes  of  whiskey  and  soda.  He's  had  his  last  go  now, 
poor  devil ! " 

"Perhaps  he  wasn't  a  devil.  Most  likely  only  a  Baby's 
Ghost  in  the  Corpse  of  one  of  those  chaps  there  are  on  ships !  " 

"  In  the  Corpse  of  a  boozy  snob !  "  said  I,  for  I  was  not  mercifully 
disposed  towards  him.  "  But  little  Rosie  was  a  dear  little  thing, 
and  was  heavy  on  my  heart.  She'll  always  believe  it  was  her 
mother,  because  no  one  but  I  can  tell  her  anything." 

We  sat  and  talked,  and  I  began  to  get  a  feeling  almost  of  ease. 
The  Doctor's  tranquil  acceptance  of  his  own  hopeful  schemes  for 
hereafter  was  seductive.  For  whenever  he  was  not  on  the  lines 
of  giving  them  logical  support  he  simply  accepted  them  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course.  For  instance,  when  we  spoke  of  Padre  Pablo,  he 
remarked  that  the  story  was  an  awful  story  certainly,  but  for 
all  that  the  Padre  might  be  a  most  fortunate  man — or  at  least 
a  most  fortunate  soul.  "A  healthy  birth  following  a  long  ges- 
tation," said  he.  "Your  little  lassie's  worthy  father  was  much 
more  unfortunate.  He  doesn't  even  get  any  pity.  Look  how 
we  speak  of  him !  What  was  the  old  chap  like  in  himself  ? " 

"  How  should  I  describe  him  ?  Perhaps  as  a  man  concealing 
pain  and  forgiving  the  rack — that's  the  nearest  I  can  manage." 

"  And  his  body  after  death — how  did  that  strike  you  ?  " 

"  A  semi-transparent  shell  with  no  fish  in  it.  You've  no  idea 
how  small  and  dry  he  looked." 

"  I  can  fancy  it ! — Come  in." 

It  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  knock  was  Beppino.  It 
was  the  first  of  a  series  of  inflictions  that  it  was  his  fate  to 
impose  upon  me.  For  Beppino  had  never  knocked  at  his  father's 


JOSEPH  VANCE  597 

door  in  his  life  before,  and  now  he  did  it  because  I  was  a  wid- 
ower. For  the  same  reason,  when  he  had  come  in,  on  tiptoe, 
he  spoke  with  bated  breath,  and  asked  me  how  I  really  was  many 
times,  each  time  throwing  doubt  on  my  previous  veracities.  He 
even  went  the  length  of  asking  shouldn't  he  pull  that  blind  down  ? 
Obviously,  truly  considerate  persons  won't  allow  widowers'  eyes 
to  suffer  from  sun-glare.  But  when  I  said,  to  help  him  to  a 
rather  easier  footing,  that  I  should  be  myself  again  soon,  but 
of  course  I  had  had  a  stiff  time,  he  couldn't  find  any  words, 
but  merely  said  "Oh-h,"  and  shook  his  head  sadly,  as  one  who, 
not  being  a  widower  himself,  could  not  talk  on  an  equality.  I 
would  willingly  have  spared  him  the  embarrassment  I  saw  he 
really  felt  (it  was  one  we  are  all  familiar  with)  only  I  really 
did  not  know  how  to  set  about  it.  The  Doctor  always  tried  to 
palliate  or  shield  Beppino,  or  discover  graceful  sub-intents  in  his 
clumsy  egotisms,  and  I  think  he  was  now  grateful  that  he  was 
no  worse.  At  any  rate,  he  had  not  come  hoof -down  on  my  corns, 
so  far.  So  as  soon  as  he  had  found  an  anchorage  outside  the 
radius  to  which  my  position  entitled  me,  and  was  fixing  me  with 
a  sympathetic  eye  from  afar,  the  Doctor  tried  again  to  get  him 
a  natural  and  easy  place  in  the  conversation.  He  had  not  so 
very  far  to  seek,  seeing  how  in  his  boyhood  I  had  nearly  lost 
my  own  life  fishing  this  very  same  fat  little  poetaster  out  of  the 
water. 

"  I  wonder  how  long  you  were  quite  unconscious  this  time,  Joe. 
Of  course  you  don't  know." 

Thus  the  Doctor,  and  I  replied  that  I  was  very  much  in  the 
dark,  besides  forgetting  all  they  had  told  me.  It  seemed  almost 
miraculous,  I  said.  But  then  it  was  different  from  the  other  time. 
This  time  I  was  floated  by  the  corks,  and  the  unconsciousness 
was  as  much  due  to  exhaustion  as  to  drowning.  The  other  time 
it  was  drowning  pure  and  simple. 

"  Which  other  time  ? "  asked  the  Poet.  He  asked  in  perfect  good 
faith,  and  had  evidently  completely  forgotten.  His  father  gave  a 
little  half -groan,  and  said,  "Fancy  your  having  forgotten  that. 
Beppino ! " 

"Who,  good  gracious — of  course,"  said  he,  with  sudden  acknowl- 
edgment of  recollection;  "why,  Juvence  pulled  me  out — thet  time 
I  was  left  in  the  water.  Just  f ency  my  forgetting  thet !  "  And 
his  father  repeated  drily,  "Just  fancy ! " 

I  was  rather  sorry  his  tone  was  such  as  to  give  Beppino  an 
insight  into  the  figure  he  was  cutting,  for  no  sooner  did  he  per- 
ceive that  he  was  doing  an  injustice  to  the  really  noble  character 


398  JOSEPH  VANCE 

of  a  contributor  to  several  leading  reviews,  than  he  proceeded 
to  reinstate  it  in  a  way  that  threatened  to  disfranchise  every 
other  topic.  I  omit  further  attempts  to  spell  him,  except  easy 
ones. 

"Why,  good  Ged,  Joe  Vance,  you  must  think  me  the  most 
beastly  ungrateful  fillow.  Of  course  I  didn't  really  forget.  It 
was  a  slip  of  the  mind,  don't  you  know — one  of  those  things  that 
happens,  don't  you  know — what  Sammy  Sparkler  calls  a  mes- 
alliance with  oblivion — don't  you  know." 

"  Oh  yes — we  quite  understand — of  course,  Joey,"  etc.,  etc.,  from 
both  of  us.  But  Beppino  was  not  going  to  be  stroked  and  patted 
and  subside  soothed — not  he ! 

"Why,  good  Ged!  It's  only  the  other  night  I  was  talking 
to  some  fillows  at  the  club,  don't  you  know,  about  drowning,  and 
I  thought  to  myself  what  a  lucky  fillow  I  was  to  be  there  at  all ! " 

This  seemed  such  a  painfully  flat  anecdote  that  I  felt  it  would 
only  be  kind  to  make  some  remark  that  seemed  to  assume  a 
reasonable  unspoken  sequel.  So  I  said:  "I  was  very  lucky  to 
be  able  to  haul  you  out,  Joey.  But  you  needn't  be  so  very  grateful, 
because  you  would  have  been  got  out  by  Carvalho,  or  Guppy,  or 
— somebody — if  I  hadn't  done  it."  I  was  just  going  to  say 
Thornberry,  but  stopped  myself  in  time. 

Now  it  is  a  much  easier  thing,  when  gratitude  you  have  not 
expressed  is  imputed  to  you,  to  swear  that  you  have  not  said, 
and  can  never  say,  too  much,  than  it  is  to  start  fair  and  say 
how  grateful  you  are,  and  always  have  been  for  anything.  Bep- 
pino became  quite  oppressive  as  soon  as  he  was  supplied  with  a 
fulcrum,  and  my  almost  happy  chat  with  the  Doctor  was  quite 
broken  up  and  spoiled.  But  as  it  was  clear  it  was  to  be  Bep- 
pino et  praeterea  nihil,  I  tried  to  calm  down  his  hymn  of  grati- 
tude for  what  he  had  clearly  forgotten,  and  to  get  the  conversa- 
tion into  another  channel. 

"  I  say,  Bep — (oh,  of  course,  my  dear  boy,  we  understand.  We 
know  you  wouldn't  be  ungrateful) — but  look  here!  You  were  not 
left  in  the  water." 

"  I  was,  Joe !  It  must  have  been  half-an-hour  at  least.  I 
know  because  of  the  rum  dream  I  had.  It  must  have  lasted  half- 
an-hour,  at  least." 

"  The  dream  about  how  you  were  out  on  the  top  of  the  rock, 
and  the  lady  came.  But  dreams  are  like  that."  And  I  thought 
of  the  Schloss,  and  how  Janey  had  wondered  whether  there  was 
a  Schloss  overhanging  this  dream.  There  was,  and  it  had  fallen, 
and  she  had  waked,  and  I  was  dreaming  still — when  should  I  wake  ? 


JOSEPH  VANCE  399 

"You're  tired,  Joe,"  said  the  Doctor's  voice.  "Better  not  try 
to  talk — you  stay  quiet !  "  I  did  so,  and  went  off  in  a  half -drowse, 
more  mere  fatigue  than  sleep.  Beppino  showed  consideration  os- 
tentatiously, going  out  of  the  room  like  a  conspirator  oppressed 
by  sympathy. 

"  Feel  better,  Joe  ? "  asked  the  Doctor  a  little  later.  I  had  roused 
up  and  gone  to  the  open  window.  It  looked  out  over  the  green- 
house top.  It  was  a  fine  early  summer  day;  but  very  chilly  after 
Portugal.  I  listened  in  vain  for  the  song  of  Lossie's  birds  in 
the  greenhouse.  The  scythe  of  Samuel  the  gardener  rang  as 
swath  followed  swath.  Nothing  would  induce  Samuel  to  use 
a  lawn-cutting  machine.  He  was  old,  he  said,  and  his  scythe  was 
going  to  last  him  out.  So  his  whetstone  still  was  to  be  heard 
thinning  the  old  scythe  down,  and  (as  I  have  understood)  waked 
Beppino  too  soon,  and  was  a  ground  of  complaint.  To-day  I 
thought  how  like  Time  Samuel  looked,  mowing  the  lawn  near 
the  old  pear  tree,  whose  blossoming  had  come  and  gone  while  I 
was  watching  the  great  white  rollers  following  each  other  to  death 
on  the  Atlantic.  I  studied  Samuel  mowing,  and  said  I  felt  rested. 
The  Doctor  was  finishing  a  letter  at  the  table. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Joe,"  said  he,  pausing  before  sticking  to  the 
envelope,  "  that  dream  of  the  Poet's  had  curious  points.  He  turned 
out  on  the  top  of  the  rock  (you  recollect)  just  like  a  very  small 
baby,  and  the  lady  picked  him  up  and  kissed  him.  He  couldn't 
understand  having  a  pair  of  babies'  legs  on."  And  the  Doctor 
stuck  down  his  envelope  and  directed  it.  Then  he  continued,  "  I 
wish  that  baby  could  grow.  If  he  were  to  get  away  for  a  while 
and  get  shaken  out  of  himself  a  little  it  might  give  him  a 
start.  At  present  he  consists  of  ill-developed  artistic  faculties  and 
no  moral  nature  to  speak  of.  I  do  not  think,  whatever  any  one 
may  say  to  the  contrary,  that  living  in  a  circle  of  narrow-minded 
voluptuaries  can  be  good  for  any  young  man — well!  he's  five- 
and-twenty,  that's  not  old." 

"It  wasn't  his  age  I  was  thinking  of.  But  are  these  friends 
of  his  such  a  lot  of  sweeps  ? " 

"  Oh  dear,  no !  I  don't  suppose  any  of  them  are  half  as  grubby 
as  they  pretend  they  are.  But  they  are  voluptuaries  for  all  that. 
They  enjoy  the  confidence  of  the  Muses  and  can  instruct  others 
in  the  ritual  of  their  worship  without  initiation  for  themselves. 
They  take  real  pleasure  in  the  practices  of  painting,  music,  and 
versification,  so  far  as  they  can  be  indulged  in  spontaneously. 
Some  of  them,  if  they  were  forced  to  take  pains,  would  do  good 
work  in  their  own  way.  But  they  are  voluptuaries,  and  prefer  to 


400  JOSEPH   VANCE 

enjoy  the  luxury  of  smatterings  to  any  outlay  of  effort  to  attain 
maturity.  What  strikes  me  as  oddest  about  them  is  the  way, 
in  which  they  ignore  the  fact  that  their  chief  idols,  the  men 
whose  names  are  always  in  their  mouths,  have  attained  their  own 
greatness  by  strenuous  and  unstinted  industry."  The  Doctor  pulled 
up  and  took  snuff.  "  I  sound/'  said  he,  "  like  Mr.  Barlow  deliver- 
ing a  Popular  Lecture  on  Impostors." 

"  Couldn't  you  make  Joey  go  and  see  the  world — get  him  out 
into  the  fresh  air  ? "  My  suggestion  had  an  element  in  it  of 
a  desire  that  Beppino  should  go  somewhere  else.  I  was  a  little 
morose  at  his  having  come  in  at  all.  The  fact  is,  he  was  always 
in  the  way  at  Poplar  Villa. 

"  He's  always  talking  about  going  to  Italy,  but  he  keeps  put- 
ting it  off  because  it  is  so  important  that  he  should  not  vitiate 
his  present  inspirations  until  their  mission  has  been  fulfilled.  I 
don't  exactly  know  what  they  are,  but  he  wishes  to  keep  the 
Aspects  of  Nature  homogeneous  until  he  has  finished  the  Enigmas 
of  Aphrodite — I  believe  that's  to  be  the  title  of  his  great  work. 
The  unity  of  the  poem  would  be  impaired  if  an  Italian  influence 
crept  into  the  last  half.  He  entertains  no  doubt  of  its  power 
over  a  susceptible  soul  like  his.  Besides,  he  has  never  been  at 
sea,  and  is  terrified  at  the  idea  of  crossing  the  Channel." 

"  Poor  little  beggar !  I  can  understand  his  last  reason.  Sea- 
sickness is  an  enigma  of  Aphrodite  no  one  has  ever  interpreted." 

"  Another  thing  is  that  although  he  is  a  very  good  French  and 
Italian  scholar,  as  far  as  writing  both  languages  goes,  he  simply 
has  not  a  word  to  throw  at  a  native  of  either  country.  He  can't 
understand  what  they  say,  and  complains  of  their  pronunciation. 
I  don't  believe  he'll  ever  go  unless  some  one  collars  him  and  takes 
him." 

This  set  me  a-thinking,  and  I  resolved  in  my  own  mind  that 
however  little  sympathy  there  was  between  us,  I  would  collar  Bep- 
pino and  take  him  away  for  the  Doctor's  sake.  I  saw  it  would 
be  a  real  relief  to  him.  I  was  even  now  beginning  to  fidget  about 
the  business  which  was  partly  the  original  object  of  my  journey 
to  Italy  that  had  ended  so  disastrously.  No  one  but  I  could 
transact  it,  as  it  related  to  a  partnership  or  alliance  between  my 
own  Firm  and  one  in  Milan.  It  was  not  open  to  indefinite  post- 
ponement— in  fact,  the  sooner  it  was  carried  through  the  better. 
I  told  the  Doctor  of  this  idea  before  I  left  him.  He  thought,  I 
really  believe,  that  I  was  making  a  great  sacrifice.  I  was  not. 
For  nothing  made  the  slightest  difference  to  me,  one  way  or  the 
other. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  401 

When  I  announced  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Macallister  my  intention 
of  going  to  Milan  later  in  the  year,  and  taking  the  Poet  with 
me,  Jeannie  said,  "What,  that  little  idiot!  We  shall  be  able  to 
go  and  see  the  Doctor  while  he's  away,  Bobby,"  which  was  the 
current  name  for  her  husband.  Bony  muttered  something  I  didn't 
quite  catch,  but  I  understood  it  to  imply  a  low  estimate  of  Par- 
nassus. I  told  Jeannie  that  perhaps  if  they  paid  Poplar  Villa 
a  visit  now,  she  would  have  a  chance  of  sitting  for  Aphrodite. 
"  You  might  get  a  turn,  for  Hephaestus,  Bony,"  I  added.  And 
Jeannie  said,  listen  to  her  jealous  husband  growling  over  there. 
It  was  "  like  the  beasts  at  the  Zoological  Gardens." 

I  spent  an  evening  in  every  week  with  my  poor  old  father- 
in-law.  He  was  slowly  recovering  some  of  his  lost  ground,  but  I 
saw  he  would  never  be  himself  again.  I  had,  however,  a  sense 
of  discomfort,  not  due  to  this,  during  my  visits.  His  absolute  cer- 
tainty that  nothing  ever  could  be  known  on  the  hereafter  question 
was  painful  to  me,  and  I  never  could  get  him  to  see  that  his  posi- 
tion claimed  powers  of  judgment  just  as  extended  as  that  of  those 
who  held  the  opposite  view.  I  talked  to  Dr.  Thorpe  about  him, 
and  he  said  it  was  only  Spencer's  legal  caution.  "  I  dare  say,"  said 
he,  "  Spencer  feels  bottled  just  as  much  as  I  do,  but  he's  afraid  to 
commit  himself  and  be  twitted  for  rashness  hereafter  if  he  turns 
out  non-existent." 

Lossie  was  to  come  over  to  England  this  Autumn,  bring- 
ing children  for  European  education.  It  was  only  her  second 
return  since  her  marriage.  It  was  small  allowance  in  over 
eight  years.  But  this  time  Sir  Hugh  was  coming  with  her 
for  a  long  spell — perhaps  not  to  return  at  all.  The  first  time 
(which  you  may  remember  was  during  my  real  engagement — 
the  second  one — with  Janey)  he  was  a  very  short  time  in  his 
native  land.  This  time  they  were  to  stop  in  Italy  during  the 
Winter,  to  soften  the  severity  of  the  change,  and  come  on  to 
England  in  the  Spring.  It  was  something,  at  any  rate,  to  look 
forward  to — in  fact,  "  Lossie  again  "  was  almost  the  only  anticipa- 
tion I  dwelt  on  with  pleasure.  I  had,  however,  misgivings  that 
I  might  build  too  much  on  it — and  that  it  might  turn  out  a  dis- 
appointment. Things  did,  very  often!  I  must  be  prepared  for 
change.  But  then  it  would  not  matter  if  it  were  only  in  the 
same  direction  as  the  change  I  had  seen  before. 

I  don't  think  I  can  have  been  influenced  by  the  chance  of  seeing 
Lossie  a  bit  earlier,  in  my  decision  to  go  to  Milan  in  the  Autumn, 
because  I  made  that  decision  when  Dr.  Thorpe  talked  about  get- 
ting Beppino  abroad.  The  first,  announcement  of  their  scheme  for 


402  JOSEPH   VANCE 

pausing  in  Italy  was  in  Lossie's  letter  replying  to  mine  about  the 
wreck. 

As  to  the  date  of  my  going,  that  of  course  depended  on  the 
rapidity  of  Beppino's  inspiration.  It  was  certainly  impossible 
to  complete  the  last  enigma  of  Aphrodite  within  two  months;  and 
then,  we  should  have  to  wait  for  the  end  of  the  great  heat.  It 
was  just  as  well  not  to  be  hurried,  and  we  should  be  sure  of  a 
calm  Channel,  crossing  towards  the  end  of  August.  If  it  had  been 
the  Northwest  Passage  the  Poet  could  not  have  made  more  fuss 
about  it.  Certainly  it  was  very  curious  how  a  man  (I  had  to 
remind  myself  that  he  was  one)  whose  experiences  had  gone  so 
far  in  some  directions  should  be  so  childish  in  others. 


CHAPTEK  XLIEI 

FRAU  SCHMIDT.      THE 

WALDSTEIN  SONATA.  THE  FRAU  MISLEADS  BEPPINO.  WHO  MISS 
SIBYL  FULLER  PERCEVAL  WAS.  THE  GOLDEN  BEAD  IN  THE  HUMAN 
CRUCIBLE.  THE  KINCARDINESHIRE  JOINT-STOCK  BANK.  HOW  ABOUT 
THE  DOCTOR'S  HEART? 

THE  conscientious  thoroughness  with  which  Janey  had  put  her 
affairs  in  order  before  starting  was  a  great  relief  to  me  in 
the  rearrangement  I  had  to  make  after  my  return.  Even  that 
excruciating  experience,  the  disposal  of  the  wardrobe,  was  in  a 
great  measure  spared  to  me.  She  had  given  away  almost  all 
the  clothes  left  out  after  packing  for  the  journey — and  what  were 
left  were  chiefly  new  things  I  did  not  associate  with  her.  My 
stepmother  saw  to  their  disposal,  and  I  made  no  enquiry.  I  per- 
suaded Pheener,  as  I  continued  involuntarily  to  call  her,  to  occupy 
the  house  provisionally,  as  I  did  not  look  favourably  on  the  idea 
of  letting  it,  and  it  was  much  too  big  for  me.  At  the  same 
time,  although  I  liked  to  think  of  it  as  still  tenanted,  and  main- 
taining somewhat  of  continuity  in  my  connection  with  Chelsea, 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  live  there,  and  divided  my  life  about 
equally  between  the  Macallisters  and  Dr.  Thorpe,  and  (when  I 
could  get  away  easily  from  the  works)  Janey*s  old  home  at  Hamp- 
stead. 

I  clung  to  the  idea  of  keeping  the  house  in  staiu  quo,  or  rather, 
perhaps  I  should  say,  shrank  from  the  task  of  dispersing  its  con- 
tents or  moving  them  elsewhere;  hence  any  little  thing  that  spoke 
of  its  still  being  in  use  was  congenial  to  me.  I  can  recall  espe- 
cially, on  one  roasting  afternoon  in  July,  as  I  passed  my  own 
house  on  my  way  to  the  Macallisters,  what  pleasure  it  gave  me 
to  hear  the  piano-tuner  tuning  Janey's  piano  by  contract.  If 
there  had  been  the  slightest  neglect  of  that  contract  I  should 
have  written  instantly  to  Broadwood  that  I  regretted  to  find, 
etc.  So  my  pleasure  was  not  solicitude  about  the  piano.  It  was 
the  coming  on  it  accidentally  ;  and  the  air  of  life  it  gave  to  the 
house  that  made  it  so  agreeable  to  me,  I  let  myself  in  with 
my  latch-key,  and  talked  sympathetically  with  the  operator,  treat- 

403 


404  JOSEPH   VANCE 

ing  the  welfare  of  this  piano  (which  no  one  ever  played  on)  as 
the  first  object  of  human  eifort,  whatever  the  next  one  might  be. 
We  recited  a  kind  of  chorus  of  indignant  hostility  to  damp.  We 
lamented  that  this  particular  piano  should  be  so  seldom  played 
on;  not  because  of  the  interest  of  listeners  or  performers,  but 
because  it  lost  pitch.  Our  conversation  seemed  to  assume  that 
the  final  end  of  music  was  the  perfect  condition  of  musical  instru- 
ments. It  sanctioned  Mozart  and  Handel  and  Bach,  as  supply- 
ing them  with  a  raison  d'etre;  but  implied  that  the  equilibrium 
of  perfection  was  to  be  found  rather  in  their  perfect  readiness 
for  use  than  in  any  results  that  would  accrue  from  it.  Even  the 
book-collector  is  not  more  callous  to  the  contents  of  a  book  than 
a  truly  professional  piano-tuner  to  a  Sonata. 

So  when  I  dwelt  with  regret  on  the  silence  of  the  instrument, 
whose  sweet  little  hammers  remained  for  ever  in  rank,  while  each 
might  be  longing  to  share  chords  and  assist  in  the  resolution  of 
discords,  and  show  superhuman  alacrity  in  response  to  magnificent 
execution — my  friend  was  only  inclined  to  sympathize  under  res- 
ervation. Still,  concession  was  permissible  to  human  weakness; 
and  he  went  so  far  as  to  remark  that  it  was  a  good  pianoforte, 
and  no  doubt  there  were  people  who  would  like  to  play  upon  it. 
He  had  been  tuning  an  old  piano  in  Beaufort  Street  that  after- 
noon. It  was  quite  past  use,  and  its  owner  was  a  lady  who 
couldn't  go  to  expense.  I  don't  know  that  he  meant  this  for  a 
hint;  but  I  took  it  as  one,  and  asked  him  to  give  a  message  to 
the  lady,  placing  my  piano  at  her  disposal,  subject  to  conditions 
about  time.  She  called  next  morning,  and  Pheener  made  stipula- 
tions accordingly. 

I  did  not  want  to  make  this  lady's  acquaintance,  or  anybody's. 
But  I  found  a  certain  selfish  satisfaction  in  thinking  that  there 
was  a  small  fraction  less  of  discontentment  in  the  sum  of  human 
misery — owing  to  Janey's  piano.  I  remember  how  once  when  Janey 
had  a  bit  of  sticking  plaster  on  a  cut  finger,  she  said :  "  My  poor 
piano !  How  it  must  be  swearing  at  that  broken  wine  glass ! " 
The  evidence  of  her  existence  to  the  senses  of  the  piano  had  been 
withdrawn  again;  and  from  myself  also  this  time.  An  equivalent 
was  now  supplied  to  the  piano.  There  was  none  for  me. 

My  own  love  of  music  had  never  been  more  than  negative.  I 
liked  hearing  Janey  play  when  I  was  smoking,  but  only  went 
io  concerts  on  her  account;  or  because  a  friend  among  the  per- 
formers had  sent  tickets.  Yet  I  suppose  I  was  really  just  as 
musical  as  the  public,  though  much  less  numerous.  The  public 


JOSEPH  VANCE  405 

can  show  its  well-balanced  mind — one-half  going  to  an  entertain- 
ment, the  other  stopping  away.  I  was  too  self-contained  to  do 
that,  but  had  I  been  divisible  I  fancy  one  of  the  halves  would  have 
gone  to  every  Monday  Pop.  For  in  those  days  there  were  Mon- 
day Pops. 

Being,  then,  this  sort  of  ambiguous  half-lover  of  music,  I  was 
arrested  opposite  my  own  house  on  another  later,  even  hotter,  July 
morning  by  the  sounds  that  came  from  Janey's  piano.  Certain 
canaries  were  in  competition  or  anxious  to  accompany;  and  a 
parrot  was  eloquent  close  by,  but  was  not  speaking  to  the  point. 
Street-cries  made  other  interruptions  in  connection  with  peas  and 
new  potatoes.  But  the  music  had  the  best  of  it. 

When  a  tooth  that  has  ached  for  days  is  suddenly  touched  with 
some  effective  anodyne,  the  incredible  rest  is  good  at  the  moment, 
even  though  the  torment  be  sure  to  come  back.  When  a  .heart 
has  ached  for  months,  and  for  sheer  weariness  is  ready  to  welcome 
any  alleviation,  however  small,  a  strain  of  music  we  might  scarcely 
notice  at  another  time  may  be  a  relief.  This  music  somehow 
relaxed  the  tension  of  that  web  of  pain  that  I  spoke  of  before, 
just  after  the  wreck.  It  had  remained  ever  since — now  more,  now 
less — but  always  there! 

As  I  stood  watching  the  red  sail  of  a  barge  dropped  to  negotiate 
the  centre  span  of  the  old  wooden  bridge,  and  saw  the  barge 
jam  itself  across  two  piers,  and  make  up  its  mind  to  wait  for 
the  next  tide,  it  dawned  slowly  in  my  semi-musical  brain  that 
the  little  hammers  must  be  very  glad  of  this  new  activity.  How 
they  must  be  rejoicing  over  impulses  they  had  never  felt  the  like 
of!  In  a  few  moments  I  was  almost  wondering  if  it  was  really 
a  human  hand  that  could  do  it?  Had  it  a  thousand  fingers,  and 
a  heart  in  every  finger? — Did  each  little  hammer  say  at  each 
note,  "I  have  recorded  in  a  second  a  world  of  loves,  aspirations, 
and  longings;  a  hundred  tales  of  skies  and  seas,  of  piled-up 
clouds  and  driving  foam;  of  the  cry  of  the  Earth  for  the  Dawn, 
and  the  lament  of  Hesperus  in  the  flame  of  the  sunset;  and 
I  am  ready  to  do  so  again  the  moment  Frau  Schmidt  says  '  go ! ' ' 
For  Schmidt  was  the  name  of  the  lady  who  had  borrowed 
Janey's  piano,  and  that  was  what  her  magic  hand  was  do- 
ing with  those  little  hammers.  Each  single  note  said  all  that 
could  be  said — all  that  the  most  exacting  could  ask — of  love  and 
life  and  the  great  interminable  universe.  Each  one,  as  its  chance 
came  round  to  speak,  said  it  again  and  again,  and  each  as  it 
spoke  said  too  that  the  end  of  it  all  was  Death.  There  is  no 
life  but  dies,  no  love  but  ceases,  no  sun  but  shall  some  day 


406  JOSEPH  VANCE 

grow  cold  and  be  left  an  ash  in  dark  space.  I  stood  and  watched 
the  dropping  red  sail  of  the  boat,  and  my  heart  pleaded  with  the 
music  for  a  respite.  But  the  music  only  said  again,  if  possible 
more  beautifully,  all  it  had  said  before,  and  gave  no  hope. 

Stop!  What  was  that?  A  sudden  voice  of  triumph  crying 
out  through  the  bewildering  vortex  of  resonances — a  sound  as 
though  the  morning  stars  sang  together  and  the  sons  of  God 
shouted  for  joy.  And  then  again — and  then  again!  I  stood  and 
listened,  and  lived  in  the  music.  Why  would  it  persist  in  Death 
after  such  a  cry  as  that?  I  stood  and  listened  and  longed  for 
it  to  come  again.  .  .  .  There !  " 

And  I  heard  what  it  said  so  plainly  that  its  repetition  made 
a  sentence  in  my  ears.  "  Stop — stop — stop !  You're  quite  mis- 
taken. Stop — stop — stop!  I  know  you're  wrong/'  And  when 
a  day  or  two  later  (for  I  was  due  at  the  works  that  time)  I  sought 
Frau  Schmidt's  acquaintance,  I  was  able  to  make  her  understand, 
by  repeating  that  sentence,  that  it  was  the  Waldstein  Sonata  I  was 
asking  for. 

I  could  tell  how  tall  and  broad  Frau  Schmidt  was,  by  re- 
sorting to  a  yard  measure,  but  I  don't  think  my  resources 
in  language  are  equal  to  describing  how  ugly,  nor  how  rude. 
But  what  did  that  matter?  The  moment  she  had  dusted  the 
piano-keys  and  cracked  her  fingers,  one  knew  what  was  com- 
ing; and  in  a  minute  it  came  and  the  whole  world  was  enchant-  * 
ment.  She  spoke  English  very  fluently  and  without  more  Ger- 
man accent  than  was  natural;  but  contrived  to  select  phrases  no 
Englishwoman  would  use.  "  I  shall  play  to  you  a  great  deal 
very  often,"  said  she.  "And  you  shall  find  my  choosings  of 
musique  to  your  satisfaction."  I  did,  and  I  considered  that  I 
was  indebted  to  Frau  Schmidt  for  an  introduction  to  Beethoven, 
and  have  ever  since  regarded  the  latter  as  being  not  so  much  a 
Composer  as  a  Revelation.  His  music  always  seems  to  me  to 
express  everything  that  I  can  understand,  and  to  supply  exhaustive 
conclusions  in  all  the  crucial  questions  of  life  and  death;  and 
I  am  satisfied  that,  when  I  don't  understand,  it  is  my  fault, 
not  his. 

Very  likely  the  foregoing  may  seem  strained  and  exaggerated 
— but  wait  till  you  have  undergone  such  tension  as  mine  had  been, 
and  you  may  judge  otherwise.  For  my  part,  I  merely  write  a 
recollection. 

Anyhow,  music  was  a  great  consolation  to  me  at  this  time, 
and  I  felt  no  sort  of  new  trouble  because  I  heard  it  in  a  deso- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  407 

lated  home.  So  long  as  I  could  shirk  getting  up  in  the  morning 
and  coming  down  to  a  breakfast  table  there  with  no  Janey,  I 
did  not  so  much  mind  the  rest  of  the  day.  My  courage  always 
went  bankrupt  during  the  night,  but  I  made  up  the  books  and 
was  ready  to  face  my  creditors  by  tea-time.  Then  very  frequent 
appointments  ensued  for  Frau  Schmidt;  and  Jeannie  and  Bony, 
and  even  more,  came  in.  And  then  the  Frau,  after  grunting 
at  every  one,  and  insulting  selected  objects  of  contumely,  would 
crack  her  hands  backwards  and  suddenly  let  Heaven  loose.  How 
often  I  said  to  myself  after  some  perfectly  convincing  phrase  of 
Beethoven,  "Of  course  if  that  is  so  there  can  be  no  occasion  to 
worry."  It  could  not  be  translated,  naturally,  into  vulgar  Gram- 
mar and  Syntax;  but  it  left  no  doubt  on  the  point,  for  all 
that. 

I  am  very  glad  that  I  was  cautious  and  did  not  give  Bep- 
pino  a  general  invitation  to  Frau  Schmidt's  recitals.  For  when 
he  came,  his  conduct  left  much  to  desire  the  absence  of.  He 
recognized  Mozart,  Bach,  and  Handel  as  friends  of  his  boyhood 
whom  he  had  outgrown ;  but  who  deserved  recognition.  He  closed 
his  eyes  and  pawed  his  fat  hand  to  the  tune  as  one  who  sanc- 
tions and  forgives  familiar  simplicities  in  a  rudimentary  art  He 
derived  as  keen  a  satisfaction  from  this  assertion  of  his  maturity 
as  ever  the  Art-Critic  did  who  invented  primitives.  Why  he  found 
it  a  gratification  to  his  vanity  and  a  means  of  affirming  free- 
masonry (or  trying  to)  with  the  Schmidt  over  our  heads  and  to 
our  exclusion,  I  can't  imagine.  But  he  did,  and  then  made  a 
merit  of  concession  to  Beethoven  and  Schubert.  He  elbowed  us 
all  into  the  background,  and  shared  the  whole  proscenium  with 
the  German  lady,  who  I  think  at  first  accepted  Master  Beppino 
as  a  reality.  But  a  Nemesis  was  awaiting  him ;  for  in  his  anxiety 
to  arrive  at  the  pinnacle  of  Wagner,  he  forgot  that  he  was  not 
acquainted  with  all  the  works  of  that  composer,  and  laid  him- 
self open  to  detection.  When  the  Frau  (in  whose  face  I  saw  sus- 
picion) asked  him  if  he  knew  the  Gross ganserichslied  my  German 
scholarship  was  enough  to  make  me  smell  a  rat.  Beppino  was 
taken  in  and  asked  for  a  little,  to  see  if  he  knew  it.  The  Frau 
complied,  though  she  said  that  without  a  full  orchestra  it  could 
not  be  understood.  It  appeared  to  consist  of  a  maelstrom  of 
surgings  and  rumblings,  quite  in  the  lower  half  of  the  keyboard, 
and  getting  distinctly  worse.  The  performer  seemed  to  recognize 
this  fact,  and  suddenly  administered  the  top-note  of  the  instru- 
ment, quite  by  itself,  like  a  pill,  and  it  didn't  seem  to  act.  On 
the  contrary,  the  symptoms  became  alarming,  and  had  to  be 


408  JOSEPH  VANCE 

treated  with  a  second  dose,  this  time  two  very  high  notes,  with 
no  better  result.  Just  as  the  time  seemed  to  be  coming  round 
for  a  third,  the  Frau  stopped  and  said  she  couldn't  recollect  any 
more. 

If  Beppino  would  only  have  left  it  alone,  none  of  us  would 
ever  have  guessed.  But  he  persisted  in  breaking  into  our  sub- 
sequent enjoyment  of  Chopin  op.  490  by  introducing  discussion 
of  the  Grossgdnserichslied  between  the  movements.  His  admira- 
tion of  it  was  rapturous.  He  even  petitioned  the  Frau  to  repeat 
a  few  bars,  in  contrast  with  some  phrases  in  op.  490.  But  his 
amazement  and  disgust  went  almost  to  a  burst  of  tears  when 
the  lady  said  impatiently :  "  I  cannot  repeat  that  stuff.  It  is 
not  Wagner;  I  make  it  all  myself.  You  are  the  'great  Gander/ 
Mr.  Thorpe."  She  would  not  let  him  off,  but  I  don't  think  it  was 
quite  fair  to  Beppino. 

He  was  very  tempersome  about  it,  and  forgot  that  it  wasn't  my 
fault.  Even  if  it  had  been,  I  consider  that  the  Poet's  chain  of 
inference  was  not  warranted.  It  is  not  necessarily  true  that  a 
person  who  misleads  you  about  Wagner  doesn't  want  you  to  go 
to  Italy  with  him.  Beppino  nearly  pulled  his  moustache  out  by 
the  roots  over  it.  "  Of  course  you  think  me  a  dim  fool,  Juvence," 
said  he.  "But  I  don't  want  to  be  a  baw  to  anybody.  And  I'm 
not  sure  that  it's  good  for  me  to  go  to  Italy  just  yet.  I  have 
to  consider  My  Work." 

"My  dear  Bep,"  I  remonstrated,  "don't  be  a  little  jackass.  I 
was  talking  to  Madame  Schmidt  about  it,  and  she  says  no  human 
creature  could  possibly  have  known  that  what  she  played  wasn't 
a  version  of  Wagner.  No  one  could  say  anything  at  all  with 
certainty  about  an  imitation  of  a  full  orchestra  on  a  piano."  I 
slurred  over  the  fact  that  Beppino's  blunder  had  not  been  in 
not  knowing  that  it  wasn't  Wagner,  but  in  greeting  it  with  ac- 
clamations due  to  undoubted  authenticity.  I  assured  him  that 
the  lady  had  stated,  with  evident  self-satisfaction,  that  it  was  a 
"gleffer"  imitation,  and  she  had  "dried  it  on  Makaroffsky,"  and 
he  had  been  "  dagen  in."  I  knew  I  had  got  this  name  all  wrong, 
but  that  it  wouldn't  matter,  as  Beppino  would  never  question 
anything  plausible.  He  was  much  appeased;  discerning  a  re- 
covery of  self-respect  for  himself  in  his  great  fellow-victim,  whom 
he  accepted  a  bouche  ouverte.  But  I  think  what  assuaged  him  too 
was  my  exaggeration  of  the  Fran's  very  slight  German  accent. 
She  was,  after  all,  only  a  Foreigner;  why  should  Balham  fret,  or 
Upper  Tooting? 

"Well,"  said  Dr.  Thorpe,  when  I  rejoined  him  in  the  library 


JOSEPH   VANCE  409 

after  this  conversation  with  Beppino  in  the  old  nursery,  "has  the 
Poet  come  to  his  senses — or  their  substitutes  ? " 

"  He's  come  out  of  his  non-senses/'  said  I,  "  and  I  daresay 
won't  go  back.  I've  told  Anne  to  pack  his  things  for  him,  and 
I'll  come  down  on  Monday  night  to  take  him  away  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  hope  to  goodness  the  wind  won't  blow !  " 

I  made  all  arrangements  for  Frau  Schmidt  to  continue  to  enjoy 
her  privilege  of  the  last  six  weeks,  sine  die;  said  good-bye  to 
Jeannie  and  Bony  and  the  babies  ;  paid  Hampstead  a  farewell 
visit;  and  went  over  to  Poplar  Villa  on  the  Monday  to  get  a 
really  comfortable  chat  with  Dr.  Thorpe  before  starting  next  day. 
After  dinner  we  settled  down  to  coffee,  smoke,  and  recapitulation 
in  the  Library,  as  of  old.  "  I'm  glad  the  Poet  has  gone  to  this 
farewell  dinner  at  the  Fuller  Percevals,"  said  he.  "We  can  be 
snug  and  enjoy  ourselves.  I  am  really  sorry  for  that  boy.  I  keep 
watching  for  any  sign  of  coming  maturity  in  him,  and  only  meet 
disappointment.  It  may  come  some  day.  Perhaps  Sibyl  Fuller 
Perceval  will  make  him  grow." 

"  Oh,  that's  what  it  is,  then !  "  said  I  to  myself.  And  then  aloud. 
"  Sibyl  Fuller  Perceval.  A  pretty  name,  anyhow !  And  they  live 
in  Park  Lane,  I  understand  ? " 

"They  live  extremely  well  in  Park  Lane.  And  equally  well 
at  Acres,  which  is  their  Somersetshire  residence.  And  I  believe 
they  undergo  very  few  privations  at  Craigsellar,  which  is  their 
deer-forest  in  Perthshire;  though  it  is  a  mere  shooting-box — 
according  to  Beppino's  report.  Even  when  they  have  to  rough  it 
in  Paris  or  Vienna  they  manage  to  come  pretty  well  off  for 
champagne  and  delicacies.  But  they  detest  the  World  and  its 
vulgarities;  and  are  distinguished  from  the  remainder  of  the 
Court-Guide  by  their  Arcadian  simplicity  and  devotion  to  Nature 
and  Art,  especially  Art.  All  their  tastes  are  artistic." 

"Including  champagne  and  delicacies?" 

"  Certainly.  Beppino  assures  me  that  the  old  gentleman  is 
superior  to  Bacchus,  and  that  his  love  of  dry  Monopole  is  a 
Spiritual  instinct.  The  daughter's  love  of  dress  is  not  due  to 
a  wish  for  admiration,  or  any  personal  feeling  at  all.  It  is  an 
innate  love  of  beauty,  and  its  development  is  among  the  higher 
duties  of  life.  Miss  Sibyl  doesn't  neglect  them,  and  runs  into 
hundreds  over  dresses  from  purely  Artistic  motives." 

"  Is  she  a  beauty  herself? " 

"  She  is — but  it  is  a  beauty  of  a  higher  type  than  the  common 
sort.  You  and  I  are  too  banal  (that's  the  word)  to  understand 


410  JOSEPH   VANCE 

it.  It  takes  a  Poet  with  a  big  P,  or  an  Artist  with  a  big  A, 
to  do  that." 

"  Are  there  any  brothers  ?    Is  she  the  only  daughter  ? " 

"  She's  the  only  child." 

«Ho!" 

"Why  did  you  say  <Ho'?" 

"  Oh,  for  no  particular  reason." 

"People  don't  say  'Ho'  for  no  particular  reason,  Joe.  How- 
ever, I'll  tell  you  why  you  said  '  Ho.'  It  was  because  you  thought 
perhaps  this  girl  loved  Beppino,  and  that  more  would  come  of 
it.  But  I  don't  believe  it  will.  If  I  did,  I  should  go  straight 
to  old  Gaifer  Perceval  and  give  him  a  hint  about  the  young  man's 
character.  I  would,  Joe,  though  he's  my  own  Son!  I  assure  you 
I'm  in  earnest.  But,  good  Lord !  It's  as  safe  as  the  Bank.  Why ! 
— the  girl  will  have  fifty  thousand  a  year !  That  sort  don't  marry 
Parnassus — eh,  Joe?" 

"Doesn't  it?  It  can  afford  Parnassus."  But  the  Doctor,  after 
looking  uneasy  for  a  few  seconds,  said :  "  Oh  no — oh  no — stuff 
and  nonsense!  Thing's  impossible."  He  then  had  a  good  pinch 
and  a  long  sneeze,  before  he  resumed  the  Subject. 

"You  know,  Joe,  I  shouldn't  have  liked  the  job  of  sketching 
Master  Joey  to  his  future  father-in-law !  " 

"  Has  there  been  anything  since  that  Thornberry  business  ?  " 

"I  couldn't  say.  I  am  a  coward,  and  would  rather  not  know. 
I  find  it  difficult  to  excuse  myself,  but  then,  look  you!  He's  the 
last  one  here,  and  he's  Lossie's  boy !  Why,  remember  the  ridiculous 
small  Baby  that  fetched  you  in  at  that  door  and  got  under  the 
table.  And  then  we  did  the  Euclid.  He's  little  Joey  still,  and 
I  can  see  it  as  plain  as  possible.  His  Corpse  has  overrun  him, 
and  the  poor  Baby  Ghost  has  never  a  chance.  His  intellectual 
powers  and  his  carcase  have  grown.  But  his  Self — no !  It's  little 
Joey  still — that  preposterous  kiddy-widdy." 

And  I  saw  the  Doctor's  face  beam  in  the  flicker  of  the  firelight 
(we  liked  the  half  dark  to  chat  in),  as  he  thought  lovingly  of  the 
baby  of  the  years  gone  by.  What  would  Lossie  feel  about  that  baby 
when  she  came  to  see  him,  this  time?  At  any  rate,  she  knew 
nothing  about  his  follies — and  never  would  from  me.  Then  I 
went  off  thinking  about  Lossie,  and  her  farewell  to  me  on  her 
wedding-day.  When  she  came  back  four  years  ago,  I  had  not 
wanted  her  as  sorely  as  I  wanted  her  now.  She  had  presented 
herself  to  me  as  a  new  person,  but  with  the  force  of  sisterhood. 
If  I  dreamed  about  her  then,  Janey  came  into  the  dream  and  can- 
celled all  else.  So  I  thought  back  into  the  older  years,  where 


JOSEPH  VANCE  411 

memory  lived  in  no  terror  of  the  awful  night  of  the  wreck.  I 
wondered  if  I  should  really  meet  her  in  Italy.  I  was  temporarily 
at  truce  with  pain  until  she  should  come  as  a  reinforcement.  Then 
I  would  have  it  out,  and  be  victorious.  Or  rather  I  was  like  one 
who  retains  his  breath  in  a  long  dive,  and  every  second  expects 
the  air.  Lossie  would  come,  and  I  should  then  get  at  a  modus 
vivendi,  for  the  rest  of  the  time.  If  I  had  known  how  long  the 
time  was  to  be,  and  how  lonely,  should  I  have  dared  to  face  it? 

"All's  to  come  right  in  the  end,  Joe,  be  sure  of  that  I"  And 
the  Doctor's  voice  struck  into  my  reverie  like  the  phrase  in  the 
Waldstein  Sonata.  "  I  don't  mean,  you  know/'  he  went  on,  "  that 
we  shall  meet  corrected  and  improved  editions  of  each  other  here- 
after, in  a  corrected  and  improved  place,  from  which  all  the  beasts 
and  fools,  who  have  not  been  corrected  and  improved  out  of  all 
knowledge,  are  excluded  by  a  Creator  who  might  have  had  con- 
sideration enough  for  them  to  let  them  be — doing  no  more  harm 
than  any  other  beast  or  fool  who  has  never  come  into  existence! 
•I  believe  I  describe  very  fairly  many  people's  idea  of  a  selected 
hereafter.  But  /  don't  mean  any  such  thing.  I  mean  when  I 
say  all's  to  come  right  in  the  end,  that  it  will  do  so  in  some 
sense  absolutely  inconceivable  by  us — so  inconceivable  that  the  sim- 
ple words  I  use  to  express  it  may  then  have  ceased  to  mean 
anything,  or  anything  worth  recording,  to  our  expanded  senses. 
To  a  mind  that  conceives  this  degree  of  Inconceivability,  it  seems 
merely  common  sense  and  common  prudence  to  leave  it  all  in  God's 
hands." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  there  must  be  some  residuum  of  the  rubbish 
of  ouf  thoughts  and  perceptions  that  will  hold  good  throughout 
for  this  state  and  the  next.  There  must  be  a  golden  bead  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Crucible/' 

"Of  course  there  is,"  said  the  Doctor.  "Love  is  the  golden 
bead  at  the  bottom  of  the  Crucible.  But  love  isn't  thought  or 
perception  or  even  passion,  in  the  ordinary  sense.  It's  God  knows 
what !  I  give  it  up.  But  it's  a  breath  of  fresh  air  from  the  highest 
Heaven  brought  somehow  into  the  stuffy  cellar  of  our  existence. 
It's  the  flash  of  light  that  strikes  on  the  wall  of  the  tunnel  our 
train  is  passing  through,  and  shows  us  the  burst  of  sunshine  that 
is  coming." 

And  again  as  he  spoke,  I  heard  the  phrase  of  the  Waldstein 
Sonata.  And  I  thought  to  myself,  how  simple  it  all  was,  as  stated 
by  Beethoven;  how  complex  when  rendered  by  what  my  father 
would  have  called  poll-parroting.  Though  truly  Dr.  Thorpe's  poll- 
parroting  seemed  to  me  to  go  very  straight  to  the  point. 


412  JOSEPH   VANCE 

"As  for  Joey/'  continued  he,  going  back  to  our  penultimate, 
and  to  his  hesitating  tone  again,  "  he's  had  much  too  easy  a  time 
of  it.  When  I  say  I  hope  Miss  Fuller  Perceval  will  make  him 
grow,  what  I  mean  is  I  hope  a  disappointment's  brewing  for  him 
in  that  quarter.  Only  I  doubt  his  being  capable  of  forming  an 
attachment  the  frustration  of  which  would  do  more  than  wound 
his  vanity.  That  might  make  him  worse  instead  of  better.  His 
best  chance  would  be  in  real  trouble.  You  see,  Joe,  one  of  my 
theories,  about  soul-growth,  is  that  pain  of  one  sort  produces  it. 
Perhaps  I  should  rather  say  that  certain  circumstances  pro- 
duce forced  growth  of  the  soul,  and  we  call  the  effect  on  our- 
selves pain.  We  can't  the  least  analyze  the  sensations  which  a 

great  loss "  The  Doctor  stopped  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  his 

sentence.  "  There — there !  "  said  he,  "  I  was  quite  forgetting. 
But  you  forgive  me,  my  dear  boy;  I  know."  He  interposed  a 
pinch  of  snuff,  and  shied  from  off  his  topic.  "What  is  the  Ger- 
man lady  who  plays  the  piano?  Did  you  ever  find  out  more 
about  her?"  :• 

"  I've  not  asked  questions — I  had  just  heard  about  her  before 
the  piano-tuner  mentioned  her — or  I  might  have  been  afraid  to 
ask  her  round.  But  go  on,  Doctor,  where  you  left  off — 'We  can't 
analyze  the  sensations  a  great  loss  produces ' — Dr.  Thorpe  looked 
intuitively  at  me  for  a  couple  of  seconds — then  decided  to  go 
straight  on. 

"  Produces,  because  we  can't  localize  it.  It  is  not  our  body 

that  is  suffering,  nor  our  mind,  which  often  remains  quite  col- 
lect and  intact.  It  is,  briefly,  our  Self.  And  it  is  in  moments 
of  greatest  suffering,  of  that  sort,  that  we  feel  most  keenly  that 
we  have  a  Self,  that  is  neither  mind  nor  body."  He  stopped,  and 
then  after  a  pause  said,  "  This  is  vivisection,"  and  I  answered, 
"I  prefer  it."  I  am  not  cooking  the  conversation,  but  giving  it 
word  for  word.  The  operator,  however,  seemed  less  ready  than 
the  subject.  7  did  not  want  him  to  flinch  from  his  analysis.  So 
I  went  on  with  it  myself. 

"When  I  began  to  recover  consciousness — well!  let  me  think 
— what  did  I  feel?  I  myself  was  perfectly  free  from  suffering 
and  recollection  alike.  I  only  wanted  to  be  left  unconscious.  What 
I  wanted  to  say  to  them  was,  "For  God's  sake,  don't!"  Then  I 
spoke,  and  thought  it  was  Lynmouth  over  again.  But  I  can't 
recollect  that.  I  was  told  after.  Then  I  had  a  long  half-stupefac- 
tion, in  which  I  waited  for  the  man  I  should  be  obliged  to  be  to 
remember  something  I  dreaded.  That's  the  nearest  I  can  go 
to  it." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  413 

Then  I  began  to  suspect  that  Dr.  Thorpe  imagined  he  had 
touched  too  roughly  on  the  subject,  and  believed  I  was  making 
a  parade  of  my  readiness  to  talk  of  it  in  order  that  he  might  not 
blame  himself.  Perhaps  neither  of  us  was  sorry  that  the  post 
made  an  interruption.  The  Doctor  opened  a  variety  of  letters 
and  enclosures,  and  I  filled  a  fresh  pipe  and  went  on  smoking 
in  silence,  till  the  letters  should  be  done  with. 

"  Violet  and  her  husband  are  due  next  week  in  Bruton  Street. 
You'll  just  miss  them,  Joe.  Like  to  see  her  letter? — Now  what's 
this  one?  Will  I  subscribe  to  the  Home  for  Indigent  Well-Con- 
nected Valetudinarians  and  Hysterical  Discharged  Female  Con- 
victs? No — I  won't " 

"  You  made  that  up,  Doctor." 

"  Well,  my  dear  boy,  it's  very  near.  Now  what's  this  ?  Another 
letter  from  the  Dumfries  and  Kincardineshire  Joint-Stock  Bank. 
Do  you  know,  Joe,  I've  been  pelted  with  letters  and  statements 
about  that  Bank — it's  gone  smash  and  ruined  all  the  shareholders. 
I'm  sorry  for  them,  but  why  did  they  send  to  me?  I  can't 
imagine.  7  can't  help  them !  " 

"  Let's  have  a  look,"  said  I.  And  the  Doctor  threw  me  over  the 
papers.  I  caught  them,  and  he  opened  another  letter. 

"  Well — that's  a  good  joke !  "  said  he,  presently.  "  You  remem- 
ber Thistlethwayte  ? "  I  couldn't,  however. 

"  He  was  that  Perfect  Lubricator  chap.  Well !  He's  got  hold 
of  a  rich  man  who  wants  to  found  a  Chair  of  Perpetual  Motion 
in  some  LTniversity,  here  or  in  America,  and  he's  to  be  the  first  Pro- 
fessor. Isn't  that  funny?" 

"  A — yes.  But  I  was  looking  at  these  Bank  Failure  things.  Are 
you  quite  sure  you  never  had  any  shares  ? " 

"  Quite  sure.  I  never  knew  anything  of  it."  He  was  evidently 
quite  unconscious  of  any  connecting  link. 

"  What  about  the  perpetual  motion  man  ? "  said  I.  "  Is  he 
going  to  found  the  University  as  well  as  the  Chair  ?  " 

"  He'll  have  to.  But  then  he  can  work  in  some  other  chairs 
of  the  same  sort,  a  Professorship  of  Quadrature  of  the  Circle? 
How  would  that  do?  Or  a  chair  of  Omniscience?  One  of  Aero- 
station would  be  too  reasonable.  And  one  of  Transmutation  of 
Metals " 

But  the  Doctor  stopped  suddenly,  and  lay  back  in  his  chair 
drawing  in  long  breaths  and  blowing  them  out  sharply.  "It's 
nothing,"  said  he;  "it  '11  be  over  directly."  Some  whiskey  was 
waiting  to  be  made  into  toddy  on  the  table,  and  I  made  him 
drink  a  little.  It  made  him  recover  his  colour,  which  had  gone 


414  JOSEPH  VANCE 

rather  rapidly  out  of  his  face  and  hands.  In  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  he  seemed  all  right  again. 

"  I  often  have  little  upsets  of  that  sort,"  he  said.  But  it  made 
me  determine  to  say  nothing  more  of  the  Bank  Failure,  which  I 
could  not  help  feeling  uneasy  about.  I  slipped  the  papers  un- 
noticed into  my  pocket  and  kept  the  conversation  to  cheerful  sub- 
jects, such  as  Lossie's  arrival,  the  possibility  that  she  might  remain 
in  England  for  good,  and  so  forth.  We  chatted  on  very  cheer- 
fully till  we  were  interrupted  by  the  Poet,  almost  wild  with  panic 
because  the  wind  was  blowing  a  gale — so  he  said!  I  went  out 
to  see,  and  came  back  saying  that  it  wasn't  a  gale — it  was 
a  hurricane  and  was  just  from  the  worst  quarter.  "  Never  mind, 
Bep,"  said  I,  "  you  know  you've  only  got  to  swallow  a  quart  of 
salt  water,  and  then  you're  sick  and  never  feel  any  unpleasant- 
ness after/'  A  further  statement  that  people  had  been  known  to 
bring  their  toes  up,  inside  out,  excited  his  suspicion.  "  I  believe 
you're  humbugging,  Juvence,"  he  said — "I  really  do — Now  I 
say,  reely,  aren't  you?"  And  I  admitted  that  it  was  the  case,  and 
observed  that  it  was  a  balmy  summer  night.  "  There  now,"  said 
he,  "  you're  going  all  the  other  way  round  now.  One  doesn't  know 
where  to  have  you  sort  of  cheps."  And  he  went  to  the  window 
and  put  his  hands  out  to  see  if  it  was  blowing  great  guns. 

I  persuaded  him  to  go  to  bed,  as  a  good  long  sleep  (I  said)  kept 
off  seasickness.  And  as  soon  as  the  Doctor  retired,  I  made  a 
packet  of  the  Bank  Papers  with  a  letter  to  my  father-in-law, 
asking  him  to  find  out  if  anything  concerned  Dr.  Thorpe.  I  wasn't 
easy  about  them,  but  could  not  see  anything  in  them  myself.  I 
posted  them  next  day  at  Charing  Cross,  when  we  were  in  course 
of  departure. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Beppino  and  I  were  actually  crossing 
from  Dover  to  Calais. 


CHAPTER  XLIY 

BEPPINO  AS  A  MARINER.  PARIS  AT  PARIS.  THE  JOURNEY  TO  ITALY. 
IDOMENEO  PELLEGRINI.  BUT  NO  JANEY  NOW.  BEPPINO  CARRIES  OFF 
JOE'S  TRUNK  TO  FLORENCE;  WHEREOF  THE  ENGRAVED  NAME  CAUSES 
MUCH  APPREHENSION. 

LEST  I  should  seem  to  write  with  undue  irritation  about  my 
namesake,  I  may  remind  you  that  I  now  look  back  at  him  through 
events  I  have  not  yet  related — events  not  of  a  sort  to  appeal  to 
leniency.  You  know  nothing  of  them. 

I  felt  very  tolerant  at  the  time  of  our  start.  Only  the  child- 
ish part  of  him  came  to  the  fore.  There  were  no  interesting 
girls  in  the  train,  whom  he  could  have  snapshotted  (as  the  phrase 
is  nowadays)  as  models  for  any  repulsive  female  in  History  or 
Mythology.  So  his  manly  qualities  kept  in  the  background.  He 
was  so  anxious  to  know  about  the  cross-channel  passage  that  he 
inquired  of  railway  porters  at  stations  on  the  way  down  whether 
the  sea  was  rough.  He  tried  to  do  it  in  an  incidental  careless 
way,  as  an  old  sea-salt  who  was  above  suspicion  of  basins.  The 
referees  replied,  unfeelingly,  "Can't  say,  I'm  sure,  Sir" — except 
one  who  testified  to  having  heard  say  that  they  was  expecting 
a  gale  at  Brighton.  This  terrified  the  Poet,  who  passed  the  re- 
mainder of  that  railway-carriage  in  catechizing  a  very  stout  old 
lady  and  an  intelligent  spinster  concerning  seasickness,  its  cause 
and  cure.  The  trying  crisis  of  arriving  quite  close  to  the  ter- 
rible ocean  and  not  seeing  it,  was  passed  through  in  dumb  silence, 
and  then,  as  the  train  sauntered  easily  into  the  harbour-siding, 
arm-in-arm  (or  handle-in-arm)  with  a  row  of  porters  it  recognized 
on  the  way,  peace  came  to  the  soul  of  the  Poet,  and  swagger 
and  defiance  of  the  billows  set  in.  For  not  only  was  the  sea 
a  sheet  of  glass,  but  expert  testimony  came  from  our  particular 
porter  that  we  were  sure  of  a  smooth  crossing  to-day;  though 
it  had  been  blowing  hard  in  the  morning,  and  he  expected  a  bad 
change  shortly  after  our  arrival  at  Calais.  This  gave  us  the  posi- 
tion of  the  most  favoured  nation,  and  seemed  to  call  for  liberality 
in  tips. 

415 


416  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Once  safely  on  board,  Beppino  strutted  about  the  deck  in  a 
plaid  railway  wrapper,  and  felt  like  Francis  Drake  or  Sebastian 
Cabot.  The  tension  having  come  to  an  end,  he  tendered  retro- 
spective recognition  of  former  experiences  of  mine,  and  reminded 
me  I  was  a  widower  by  a  certain  considerate  minor  key  in  his 
voice.  "  Of  course  you're  used  to  this  sort  of  thing,  Juvence," 
said  he.  But  I  was  not  thinking  on  the  same  line  as  he, — but 
of  how  Janey  and  I  crossed  from  Folkestone  to  Boulogne  to  go 
to  Normandy;  and  how  the  sea  now  was  not  so  blue  as  then,  nor 
the  gulls  so  white. 

By  the  time  we  arrived  in  Paris  the  Poet  had  persuaded  him- 
self that  he  was  familiar  with  life  abroad.  He  seemed  rather  dis- 
concerted at  the  virtuous  dulness  of  the  French  metropolis,  hav- 
ing expected  a  city  on  the  lines  of  Our  Correspondent  in  the 
morning  paper  taken  in  at  Poplar  Villa.  I  forget  what  paper 
it  was;  but  this  column  was  redolent  of  chic,  and  can-cans,  and 
gay  and  lightsome  occurrences  of  every  kind;  almost  always  re- 
sulting in  dissatisfaction  to  some  lady's  husband.  We  should 
not  have  had  any  excitement  at  all,  if  our  cocker  had  not  got 
locked  into  a  jam  of  vehicles  in  a  narrow  street  and  used 
very  bad  language.  The  chaos  of  execration  and  badinage  that 
ensued  was,  however,  only  French  for  what  you  might  hear  any 
day  in  London,  delivered  more  volubly.  There  was  nothing  plummy 
or  wicked  about  it.  Beppino  was  disappointed,  and  I  think  rather 
frightened.  But  he  got  some  consolation  from  the  many  portraits 
of  forward  young  women,  all  of  them  evidently  no  better  than 
they  or  any  one  else  should  be,  who  threw  the  whole  force  of 
their  fascinations  into  persuading  you  to  take  aperients.  After 
dinner,  at  the  Hotel,  we  strolled  out  and  got  coffee  and  cognac 
in  the  open,  and  a  very  pleasant  fat  woman  with  an  equally 
pleasant  fat  baby  put  a  little  automatic  doll  to  dance  on  the 
pavement  for  our  delight,  and  probably  remembers  us  with  grati- 
tude to  this  day.  But  the  multitude  of  complete  families  that 
were  having,  or  had  had,  their  evening  meal  at  marble  tables  in 
the  street,  seemed  a  shock  to  the  Poet's  sense  of  immorality,  which 
he  had  hoped  would  be  gratified  by  a  visit  to  Paris.  I  explained 
to  him  that  the  parents  never  belonged  to  one  another,  however 
plausible  they  seemed.  "  In  fact,"  I  said,  "  it's  only  by  the  merest 
chance  a  French  lady  ever  marries  her  own  husband."  Beppino 
then  distinguished  that  I  wasn't  in  earnest,  and  we  went  into 
a  cafe  chantant  to  see  some  real  life.  An  unemployed  vivandiere 
was  singing  an  arch  song  too  fast  for  either  of  us,  and  occa» 
eionally  kicking  a  Pierrot,  much  taller  than  herself,  on  the  head, 


JOSEPH   VANCE  417 

apparently  without  difficulty.  Nobody  could  have  predicted  it  of 
her — she  was  so  very  plump.  After  this  it  was  no  great  surprise 
that  she  should  climb  up  him  somehow  and  stand  on  his  head. 
I  didn't  like  to  tell  my  companion  that  I  had  gathered  from  a 
heard  word  or  two  that  this  couple  were  united  in  lawful  wed- 
lock, and  that  domestic  bliss  was  the  leading  idea  of  the  per- 
formance. It  was  altogether  too  respectable. 

We  had  made  up  our  minds  to  travel  all  night.  But  I  think 
if  I  had  realized  how  intensely  sleepy  a  Poet  could  be  I  should 
have  insisted  on  staying  the  night  in  Paris.  And  not  only  was 
he  intensely  sleepy,  but  he  could  no  more  sleep  upright  than  a 
toy-tumbler  with  a  weighted  head.  First  he  fell  over  to  the  right 
on  a  pair  of  French  honeymooners  who  had  covered  themselves 
with  one  rug,  and  who  came  out  to  say  that  Monsieur  was  tres 
maladroit.  Then  when  I  had  pacified  them,  and  got  them  to  bed 
again,  Beppino  rolled  over  to  the  left  on  a  Baron  who  was  har- 
bouring a  live  fowl  somewhere,  which  had  puzzled  me  by  crow- 
ing at  intervals.  As  Beppino  was  only  equal  to  saying,  "  Whoo — 
I  say!  What's  the  French  for  'sorry'?  Je  suis  bien  fache, 
Monsieur,"  I  had  to  do  more  apologies.  This  sort  of  thing  in 
the  green-shade  darkness  of  a  veiled  light,  skinned  at  intervals, 
makes  up  the  oppressive  life  of  the  nocturnal  railway-carriage — 
always  to  me  the  worst  of  all  between  Paris  and  Basle.  Then, 
as  you  have  just  won  a  position,  and  are  getting  a  little  sleep, 
you  shoot  into  a  sudden  benighted  station  inhabited  by  a  for- 
gotten functionary  with  a  lantern,  who  to  annoy  you  asks  to  see 
your  ticket,  and  shows  indifference  when  you  produce  it.  And 
you  subscribe  to  the  opinion  that  the  Turkish  >  system  of  simply 
keeping  the  victim  awake  is  the  cleverest  torture  man  has  yet  hit 
upon.  Outside,  in  the  darkness,  the  endless  yell  of  the  whistle 
through  the  night,  and  almost  before  the  tink-tink-tink  of  the  test- 
hammers  on  the  axles  has  had  time  to  report  favourably  on  one, 
the  cry  of  "En  voiture,  Messieurs,  en  voiture ! " 

Consolation  comes  at  Basle. — Coffee  is  always  coffee  abroad 
(though  sometimes  an  appalling  calamity  in  England)  and  fresh 
trout  is  a  great  consolation — to  those  who  get  it.  I  wish  you 
may,  next  time  you  are  at  Basle.  We  were  lucky,  and  went 
ahead  refreshed.  Then  the  Poet,  who  was  very  bad  about  Ger- 
man, wanted  to  know  what  a  niM-raucher  was,  evidently  think- 
ing it  was  the  name  of  a  wild  beast.  We  felt  emancipated  from 
the  clutches  of  the  night,  and  conversed  cheerfully.  The  engine 
began  to  complain  of  having  to  go  uphill ;  and  then  towards  lunch- 
eon-time three  young  German  Frauleins,  who  were  taking  a  little 


418  JOSEPH   VAlsCE 

refreshment  to  keep  them  going,  suddenly  started  up  shouting, 
"  Schau — schau — schau !  " 

And  what  we  were  to  schau  was  the  Alps.  And  Janey  was  not 
with  me  to  see  them. 

Beppino  was  on  his  guard  against  admiration,  and  showed  such 
watchfulness  and  discipline  that  I  hoped  maturity  was  going  to 
set  in.  The  amount  of  cunning  he  exhibited  in  the  protection  of 
his  amour-propre  was  equal  to  that  of  a  full-grown  Critic.  The 
Jungfrau  (I  think  he  said)  was  greatly  overestimated;  which 
may  have  been  the  case,  but  I  have  never  seen  an  estimate.  But 
he  made  some  concession  to  the  outline  of  Pilatus.  I  forget 
whether  the  railway  went  beyond  Lucerne  in  those  days — I  fancy 
it  did,  but  we  went  by  the  boat  to  see  the  sights.  I  can  remem- 
ber Beppino  in  his  secundum  artem  suit,  very  tourist  of  very 
tourist,  walking  about  the  deck  with  a  double-barrelled  telescope 
and  a  Baedeker,  and  conversing  affably  with  wandering  Anglo- 
Saxons  until  detected  and  consigned  to  oblivion.  If  he  had  been 
content  not  to  pretend,  he  might  have  been  "  that  interesting  young 
man  we  met  on  the  boat,"  in  several  English  and  American  families. 
But  he  preferred  to  strut,  and  fell  in  their  esteem  accordingly.  He 
was  much  more  circumspect  when  I  was  in  the  conversation.  He 
was  dreadfully  afraid  of  me. 

We  stopped  at  Brunnen  for  the  night,  and  Beppino  purchased 
an  Alpenstock.  My  recollection  is  that  there  were  already  some 
names  of  inaccessible  peaks  carved  on  the  handles,  which  the  owner 
would  have  ascended  if  his  inclination  had  been  greater,  and  that 
of  the  mountain  less.  I  explained  to  him  that  it  would  be  no 
use  on  the  diligence  across  the  St.  Gotthard.  He  was  really  re- 
lieved when  I  told  him  the  road  was  as  clear  of  dangers  as  the 
Old  Kent  Road,  and  felt  he  could  climb  imaginary  Matterhorns 
in  peace.  His  next  severe  trial  was  sitting  still  on  the  top  of 
the  Diligence  while  it  skidded  down  dreadful  steeps  with  nothing 
but  stone  sugar-loaves  to  prevent  its  going  off  the  road  and  over 
a  precipice.  But  a  promise  of  an  easier  time  was  at  hand,  and 
when  the  rock  tunnel  came  that  lets  the  traveller  into  a  sunny 
Italy,  the  Poet  felt  reassured. 

And  then  we  descended  into  Heaven,  and  at  the  end  of  every 
new  solo  of  the  skid  that  shrieked  on  the  wheel  the  sun 
was  wanner.  And  the  Ticino  roared  and  thundered  along  its 
private  road  that  it  has  made  for  itself  in  all  these  long  past 
ages,  and  called  out  to  the  coach  above  that  it,  too,  was  on  the 
way  to  Italy  and  was  glad.  For  it  had  had  a  hard,  cold  time 
on  those  cruel  moraines  up  there  behind  us,  and  now  the  sun 


JOSEPH  VANCE  419 

had  set  it  free.  What  the  Poet  made  of  the  music  of  the  cataracts 
below  I  can't  say;  but  I  was  pretty  clear  it  was  a  hymn  of 
praise  to  Helios,  and  that  the  rich  grape  clusters  on  the  increas- 
ing vines  wanted  to  join  in  it  audibly,  and  call  attention  to  the 
benefit  they  too  had  received.  But  practice  forbade  them — and 
they  could  not  even  hold  their  tongues,  having  none;  even  as 
one's  partner  at  whist  has  none,  and  trumps. 

Children  are  precious  everywhere.  Even  the  beer-slopped  midget 
of  the  beery  vermin  of  a  beery  London  suburb  is  precious,  and 
one  yearns  to  pick  it  out  of  the  beer  as  a  fly  out  of  the  milk. 
But  oh  how  precious  are  the  swarms  of  babies  that  come  out 
to  see  the  coach  go  by,  when  it  goes  by  on  a  strada,  and  they 
come  out  of  casas  and  quartieri  that  their  babbo  can  hardly 
pay  the  appiccione  of — when  their  voices  are  out  of  all  propor- 
tion to  their  compact  minuteness,  and  a  crowd  of  them  bubble 
out  music  like  a  grove  of  nightingales — when,  in  short,  they  are 
bambini!  Every  little  pair  of  feet  seems  to  be  carrying  an  irre- 
placeable jewel,  a  germ  of  endless  possibilities  in  manhood,  into 
all  the  dangers  and  most  of  the  dirt  that  two  recently  opened 
black  eyes  can  see  their  way  to;  every  little  pair  of  hands  to  be 
seeking  something  to  put  together,  or  something  else  to  pull  to 
pieces.  And  there  are  such  a  many  of  them,  and  they  seem  so 
cheap ! 

But  in  that  land  where  we  were  they  are  not  in  the  market. 
You  may,  if  you  like,  pick  them  up  and  hug  them,  while  regret- 
ting their  defective  hygienic  arrangements,  but  buy  them  you 
can't,  whatever  may  be  the  case  farther  south.  I  recall  two  espe- 
cially, somewhere  near  Bellinzona,  close  to  a  water-mill,  where 
we  stopped  a  few  minutes,  who  were  engaged  thoughtfully  on  a 
most  beautiful  mud-pie.  I  suppose  they  had  seven  years  between 
the  two.  I  was  fain  to  pick  up  the  smallest  and  kiss  it.  Its  name, 
as  I  learned,  was  Idomeneo  Pellegrini,  and  its  face  was  solemn. 
It  was  not  alarmed,  and  returned  my  attention  courteously,  print- 
ing off  one  of  its  hands  on  my  forehead.  I  was  obliged  to  wash 
it  off  when  we  got  to  Lugano  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning. 
I  was  sorry.  He  was  to  me  the  baby  I  should  have  passed  on 
to  Janey  when  I  had  done  with  him,  had  Janey  been  there.  How 
she  would  have  enjoyed  Idomeneo  Pellegrini. 

But  Janey  was  not  there,  and  I  could  only  half  enjoy  him  by 
myself.  I  left  him  and  his  friend  going  on  with  the  mud- 
pie  thoughtfully  in  the  valley  of  the  Ticino  five-and-twenty  years 
ago.  Perhaps  a  baby  of  his  is  making  a  mud-pie  there  now. 

We  got  to  Lugano,  as  I  said,  and  the  sleepiest  cameriera  that 


420  JOSEPH   VANCE 

ever  was  waked  by  an  'ostler  shouting  Mariuccia  to  her,  and 
banging  at  her  door,  came  out  and  got  us  a  candle,  and  showed 
us  a  room  and  forsook  us  rapidly,  leaving  us  without  matches. 
Whereupon  the  candle  tumbled  on  the  ground  and  we  were  left 
in  the  dark  in  a  silent  palace,  and  had  to  shout  to  Mariuccia, 
who  didn't  hear.  However,  at  last  Fiammetta  came  and  rescued 
us,  which  did  just  as  well.  I  am  ashamed  to  have  to  record 
though  that  Fiammetta  boxed  Beppino's  ears  for  him  before  she 
left.  I  had  to  explain  to  him  that  he  was  no  longer  in  Eng- 
land. I  wonder  if  Fiammetta  ever  thinks  now  of  that  impertinent 
young  S  ignore  Inglese,  and  how  the  slap  resounded. 

Nothing  of  any  interest  occurred  during  the  rest  of  the  journey 
to  Milan — indeed,  if  I  were  asked  why  I  have  thought  the  fore- 
going worth  writing  I  should  be  puzzled  to  say.  My  business 
detained  me  in  Milan;  and  in  a  day  or  two  Beppino  was  bored, 
and  as  he  was  getting  accustomed  to  his  surroundings,  and  I 
noticed  that  he  was  keeping  at  a  respectful  distance  from  every 
ragazza,  I  raised  no  objection  to  his  going  on  to  Florence  by 
himself.  "  But,  I  say,  Juvence,"  said  he,  "  what  am  I  to  do  about 
that  blessed  portmanteau?  It's  all  ripped  open." 

"  There's  a  trunk-maker  just  down  by  the  arches,"  said  I. 
"You  can  say  to  him,  'Mi  occorre  rammendare  un  baule  rotto 
— Hotel  Sorrento — Subito,  subito ! '  Or  suppose  I  come  with  you 
— perhaps  I'd  better." 

"  Won't  the  Hotel  people  get  it  done  for  me? " 

"  Of  course  they  would.  But  they  are  human,  and  their  interesse 
is  for  you  to  stop  on.  Twig  ? " 

"  What  a  race  of  double-dyed  scoundrels  foreigners  are !  But 
you're  a  dear  good  filler,  Juvence,  and  you'll  come  along  with 
me  and  explain,  won't  you  ? " 

"With  pleasure.  Or,  stop  a  minute!  We  can  do  better  than 
that.  You  can  take  my  trunk — it's  the  same  size  as  yours.  And 
I  can  easily  get  yours  mended  after  you're  gone." 

"  Good  filler  you  are,  Juvence !    Then  I  can  go  at  once." 

"  Catch  the  next  train — this  evening !  You'll  just  have  time  to 
dine  comfortably  if  you  go  now  and  pack  your  things  into  my 
box.  I'll  come  and  see  your  luggage  booked.  And  I'll  wire  now 
to  the  Minerva  at  Florence  to  make  sure  they  have  a  bed  for  you. 
Of  course  they  will,  but  it's  well  to  wire.  Cut  along  and  get 
packed."  He  did  so,  but  presently  reappeared. 

"I  say,  Juvence,  there's  your  name,  'Vance,'  written  large  on 
the  portmanteau.  Shan't  I  get  in  some  row  about  that? " 

"Not  a  bit.     If  any  one  says  anything,  pretend  you  think  he 


JOSEPH  VANCE  421 

asked  for  una  lira,  and  give  it  him.  But  nobody  will.  They  don't 
look  at  names  where  tickets  are  given  for  luggage." 

"  Of  coarse  not ! "  This  was  said  with  a  pronunciation  which 
implied,  «  As  if  I  didn't  know  that !  " 

"Besides  you  can  say  it  isn't  a  name  at  all — say  it's  a  place 
— name  of  your  villa  residence  near  Londra.  They'll  only  put  it 
down  as  another  forester's  eccentricity.  They  look  on  us  as 
mere  children,  and  quite  unaccountable.  But  tie  on  a  label  with 
your  proper  name  on  it.  They'll  call  you  Torpay." 

Which  Beppino  did,  and  departed.  I  wasn't  sorry  to  be  rid 
of  him.  When  he  had  gone  I  sat  in  the  front  garden  at  the 
Sorrento  and  made  tobacco  rings  from  the  smoke  of  a  Trabuco, 
and  wished  twopenny  cigars  fit  to  smoke  could  be  had  in  England. 
A  small  boy  climbed  up  outside  the  railings,  and  laughed  with 
Lossie's  laugh,  filling  the  whole  place.  And  I  passed  him  through 
the  rails  a  more  substantial  meal  than  he  had  for  some  time; 
Janey  would  have  done  so.  And  this  ragazzino  ate  it  all  up  as 
he  would  have  eaten  it  then.  But  when  he  went  away  the  song 
he  made  to  dance  down  the  street  with  was  not  what  he  would 
then  have  made.  It  was 

"  n  signore  foreetiere, 
II  signore  forestier— " 

and  had  Janey  been  there  it  would  have  been  la  Signora.  It  did 
not  add  to  my  sadness,  or  my  hunger  for  the  end,  to  think 
all  this.  It  was  as  it  was.  Nor  was  my  longing  to  see  Lossie 
crossed  by  any  fear  of  a  counter-clash  of  two  feelings.  I  say 
what  I  mean  quickest  when  I  say  that  I  knew  we  three  knew 
all  about  it,  and  understood.  I  only  looked  to  Lossie  to  bring 
me  a  precious  gift  of  tears  I  could  not  get  elsewhere.  Should 
I  meet  her  in  Italy?  I  went  to  bed  and  dreamed  of  the  Baron, 
and  the  cock  that  crew  all  through  the  night  in  that  miserable 
railway-carriage. 

A  letter  came  to  me  at  Milan  about  five  days  after,  announcing 
the  Poet's  safe  arrival.  I  did  not  fret  about  him,  as  I  knew 
all  about  the  Post-Office  in  Italy  in  those  days.  Probably  it 
has  improved.  His  letter  said  Tuscany  had  taken  the  matter  of 
his  name  in  hand,  and  settled  it  in  its  own  way.  He  was  Van- 
chay,  not  Torpay,  and  remonstrance  was  ineffectual.  If  he  got 
in  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge  of  explanation  with  the  Com- 
missioner in  the  ingresse  of  the  Hotel,  who  spoke  English,  Ger- 
man, French,  and  Russian  equally  well  (or  ill),  the  waiter  in 


422  JOSEPH  VANCE 

the  sola  da  pranzo  came  out  and  undid  it  all  by  affirming  the 
accuracy  of  Vanchay  against  all  comers.  And  when  the  unfor- 
tunate Beppino  shouted,  as  one  shouts  to  him  who  says  "Ho 
capito"  and  (as  Beppino  added)  doesn't  capito  at  all,  and  was 
beginning  to  make  him  see  the  truth  of  the  case,  a  pestiferous 
cameriera  from  the  landing  above  claimed  powers  of  interpreta- 
tion, and  cut  in  with  "Thus  says  the  Signore,  that  one  makes  a 
sbaglio  when  one  calls  him  Torpe.  He  is  really  Vance."  The  idea 
of  Beppino's  convulsive  efforts  to  obtain  his  name,  always  with  a 
reverse  result,  was  laughable  enough.  He  ended  his  letter  by 
saying  he  should  have  to  accept  Vanchay,  as  even  an  Italian  lady 
at  the  Hotel  had  failed  to  procure  Torpay  for  him,  although  she 
spoke  English  fluently.  And  then  it  had  turned  out  that  she 
herself  had  misunderstood,  and  made  matters  worse! 

"  It's  got  grimed  in  now,"  wrote  he,  "  and  I  can't  get  a  chance. 
However,  I  suppose  it  really  doesn't  matter."  I  too  supposed 
then  that  it  really  didn't  matter. 


CHAPTER   XLV 

JOE'S  RETURN  HOME.  MR.  SPENCER  AND  COMTE.  HIS  BAD  NEWS 
ABOUT  DR.  THORPE'S  AFFAIRS.  A  FORGOTTEN  TRUST  FUND.  THE 
DOCTOR  BANKRUPT.  LOSSIfi's  RETURN  FROM  INDIA. 

I  RESOLVED  to  saunter  about  a  little  in  the  north  of  Italy  until 
I  should  know  definitely  when  Lossie  and  her  husband  were  com- 
ing. I  finished  my  business  in  Milan,  and  not  finding  anything 
very  interesting  in  the  town,  went  on  to  Bergamo,  Brescia,  and 
Verona,  idling  about  void  of  purpose;  and  building  on  the  chance 
of  Lossie's  arrival.  I  was  afraid  when  she  got  to  Italy  she  might 
be  tempted  to  stop  on  into  the  spring.  A  London  winter,  after 
the  sun-world  of  the  south,  is  far  from  tempting.  So  I  kept  on 
hoping  to  see  her  in  Italy  before  returning  to  the  land  of  hushed 
speech  and  tied  houses  and  All  the  Winners.  But  my  hopes  were 
dashed  when  I  got  to  Venice,  where  I  had  told  Bony  to  send 
letters;  as  it  made  the  end  of  a  fortnight's  slow  progress  through 
the  above  three  towns.  General  Desprez  and  his  family  had  been 
detained  later  than  was  expected,  and  would  not  reach  Rome, 
where  they  would  stop  first,  till  October.  It  would  not  be  fair 
to  Bony  to  leave  the  business  so  long.  So,  after  a  week  in  Venice, 
chiefly  in  a  gondola,  I  cut  my  own  stay  short  and  came  back.  I 
should  not  have  stayed  so  long,  only  I  felt  I  ought  to  consider 
Venice,  and  give  her  my  valuable  company  for  a  week;  espe- 
cially as  she  would  never  be  able  to  understand  that  I  really  did 
not  care  about  anything  at  all.  I  remember  thinking  how  nice 
it  would  be  if  the  Fondaco  dei  Turchi,  some  fine  moonlight  night 
when  I  passed  in  a  gondola,  would  fall  over  and  crush  me  once 
for  all  and  have  done  with  it.  In  those  days  the  Fondaco  was 
on  crutches  and  seemed  on  its  last  legs.  It  has  been  set  up 
again  since  then,  without  the  aid  of  all  the  king's  horses  and 
all  the  king's  men,  and  is  quite  spick  and  span.  It  did  not  fall, 
and  I  came  back  a  roundabout  way  through  Trieste,  Vienna,  Mu- 
nich, and  Strasburg — then  down  the  Rhine  to  Cologne  and  some- 
how to  Antwerp  and  London  by  a  boat  called,  I  think,  the  Baron 
Osy.  All  that  wandering  left  little  to  recollect,  and  I  was  very 
glad  when  I  got  back  and  was  giving  the  presents  I  brought  with 
me  to  little  Archie  and  Flixie,  Jeannie's  children. 

423 


424  JOSEPH  VANCE 

I  had  not  been  away  over  a  month,  and  of  course  I  expected 
extraordinary  changes  on  my  return.  The  crowd  of  events  in 
a  short  tour  seems  always  to  imply  to  the  traveller  an  equal  sup- 
ply of  incidents  at  home  during  his  absence.  And  of  course  noth- 
ing had  occurred.  I  went  the  day  after  my  arrival  to  Frognall, 
and  turned  into  the  library,  to  feel  illogical  surprise  at  its  identity. 
Mr.  Spencer  wasn't  back  yet,  Missus  wasn't  up.  So  I  sat  down 
in  the  old  chair — my  first  chair  in  that  house — but  took  out  a 
book.  I  did  not  choose  it,  but  took  it  up  at  random.  When  I 
found  it  was  "  Peter  Simple  "  it  brought  back  my  first  visit,  and 
how  full  of  Lossie  I  was  in  that  schoolboy  time.  And,  mind  you! 
I  did  not  remember  the  non-Lossie  part  of  that  visit  then  nearly 
so  clearly  as  it  has  come  back  to  me  since,  while  writing  this. 
But  I  read  on  in  "Peter  Simple"  and  came  to  the  old  place 
and  the  explanation  of  flapdoodle.  And  I  looked  up  at  the  little 
mirror  on  the  table — there  it  stood  as  of  old,  on  a  little  base  of 
silver-work — but  the  room  I  saw  in  it  was  empty,  and  when  I 
had  looked  before  I  had  seen  a  little  girl — half  shy,  half  bol^ 
— approaching  circumspectly  through  scattered  incidents  of  fur- 
niture. Dull  and  stony  I  sate,  and  dreamed  through  what  came 
back  of  our  childish  talk,  till  I  came  to  the  end,  and  my  memory 
of  the  little  girl  used  the  words  I  remembered  her  using  again 
so  well — her  last  words  to  me  as  hope  died  in  my  heart,  as  I 
fought  the  waters  in  vain.  "  Mind  you  recollect " 

Yes — I  would  try  hard  to  keep  that  promise.  But  it  was  so  hard 
not  to  grieve.  If  only  the  tears  could  come,  and  I  might  feel 
less  like  a  dry  wood-chip,  aching. 

As  I  write  this  for  myself,  not  for  you,  I  shall  add  now  some- 
thing you  will  not  understand;  an  odd  experience  of  a  mind 
strained  by  sore  tension,  not  self -controlling,  but  forced  to  take 
its  course  by  stray  impulses,  coming  Heaven  knows  how!  As 
my  memory  came  to  "  Mind  you  recollect,"  Lossie's  knock  at 
the  door  followed,  and  she  came  in  and  brought  again  exuberance 
of  life,  and  the  idea  that  all  the  blinds  had  been  drawn  up  and 
the  sun  had  come  out.  I  could  almost  hear  again  the  stimulated 
singing  of  the  bird.  The  effect  upon  me  was  that  I  broke  into 
a  torrent  of  tears; — not  the  very  first  perhaps  that  I  had  shed 
since,  but  the  first  of  relaxation,  almost  of  luxury.  Grief  had 
a  new  form  that  I  could  welcome,  and  I  was  an  aching  wood- 
chip  no  longer.  I  was  grateful  for  that  memory  of  a  girl  with 
sunny  hair  blown  across  her  brow  and  long  lashes  to  gray-blue  eyes 
that  looked  so  seriously  at  the  boy  that  once  was  me.  And  that 
little  thing  that  stood  there  still,  in  my  memory,  finishing  that 


JOSEPH   VANCE  425 

peppermint  drop,  was  Janey,  my  wife  that  was  gone;  that  I  could 
see  and  hear  no  longer;  that  I  had  lost  touch  of  in  that  dark  and 
dreadful  sea. 

I  could  say  none  of  this  to  my  father-in-law.  It  would  only 
make  him  talk  about  the  Choir  Invisible  and  how  the  dead  were 
really  with  us  still,  only  they  weren't.  He  had  found  consolation 
among  Positivists  many  years  before,  and  had  committed  himself 
so  often  to  the  sufficiency  of  Comte  to  a  well-regulated  mind, 
during  a  period  of  happy  exemption  from  home-thrusts  of  Death, 
that  he  could  not  well  surrender  at  discretion  because  he  was 
hard-hit  in  his  first  general  engagement.  He  was  (if  a  person 
who  has  not  gone  much  into  these  matters  may  venture  on  such 
an  explanation)  an  example  of  a  Christian  who  had  endeavoured 
to  strain  off  the  teachings  of  Jesus  the  Nazarene  from  the  scum 
and  the  dregs  of  the  World  and  the  Churches,  and  had  never 
been  able  to  decide  on  the  mesh  of  his  strainer.  He  and  I  and 
Janey  had  often  talked  vaguely  on  the  subject,  and  he  always 
seemed  to  me  to  be  endeavouring  to  find  a  sieve  that  would  let 
Christ  through,  and  keep  the  Miracles  out.  Do  what  he  would 
the  Resurrection  slipped  past.  The  stone  that  was  rolled  away 
from  the  Sepulchre  broke  a  hole  in  the  mesh,  and  the  Gadarene 
Swine  found  it  out  and  came  through  with  a  rush,  and  then 
a  new  sieve  had  to  be  provided  and  the  whole  operation  repeated. 
There  was  one 'thing  clear,  that  due  account  had  to  be  taken 
of  what  the  Laws  of  Nature  would  permit.  And  though  Mr. 
Spencer  didn't  include  them  in  his  own  Legal  acquisitions,  it 
was  very  well  known  that  they  were  pretty  well  known  in  Albe- 
marle  Street.  But  personal  application  (so  to  speak)  for  a  ref- 
erence to  the  original  Codex  of  Nature  having  led  to  no  produc- 
tion of  an  attested  copy,  poor  Mr.  Spencer  was  thrown  back 
on  choosing  between  the  interpretations  of  the  churches  (or 
rather  an  interpretation  of  some  Church)  and  pure  Negation, 
unless  some  form  of  compromise  could  be  effected.  He  had  seemed 
to  find  satisfaction  in  Comte,  though  I  never  could  trace  out  its 
source.  His  continued  adhesion  under  strain  I  felt  did  him  credit, 
and  I  did  not  want  to  disturb  it.  So  when  he  came  into  the 
library,  and  read  my  thought  in  my  face,  I  gratefully  accepted 
the  way  he  held  my  hand  and  looked  at  me  as  sufficient  recogni- 
tion of  the  past,  and  let  me  go  on  to  other  matters.  He  had  some- 
thing on  his  mind  to  tell  me. 

"You've  seen  Dr.  Thorpe,  of  course,  Joseph,"  said  he. 

"  No,  only  my  partner  and  his  family  so  far.  I  only  came  home 
yesterday  evening." 


426  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  You  were  good  to  come  to  us  first,"  he  said.  "  But  the  Doc- 
tor will  want  to  see  you  as  soon  as  you  can  go.  Of  course  you 
got  my  letter?" 

"No,  indeed — no  letter  has  come.  What  is  it?"  For  I  was 
alarmed,  naturally. 

"  It  is  less  serious  than  we  anticipated,"  said  he,  leaving  me 
still  in  complete  ignorance,  in  his  anxiety  to  minimize  some  evil 
he  had  to  tell. 

"  But  what  is  ?  What  is  ?  Do  for  Heaven's  sake,  dear  Padrone, 
tell  me  all  about  it."  This  is  a  name  I  used  to  call  him  by.  When 
it  began  I  forget. 

"I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Milan  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  You 
recollect  those  papers  you  sent  me — the  Dumfries  and  Kincard- 
ineshire  Bank  smash?  Well!  It  appears  that  poor  Thorpe  was 
one  of  three  Trustees  for  a  large  sum  in  Bank  Shares.  He  had 
completely  forgotten  it  or  never  knew  it.  The  dividends  were 
regularly  paid  into  a  Bank.  The  other  Trustees  died — one  in 
Stepney  Workhouse  infirmary  ;  the  other  I  believe  was  a  Mis- 
sionary on  the  Niger,  and  a  tribe  he  was  converting  dined  off  him. 
Anyhow,  the  matter  wasn't  properly  looked  after.  And  so  it  went 
on  for  thirty  years.  An  Archdeacon's  widow,  who  was  the  party 
concerned,  received  her  dividends  and  asked  no  questions.  And 
there  were  the  shares  still  standing  in  the  names  of  the  three, 
Thorpe  being  the  only  survivor,  and  the  estates  of  the  others  nil." 

"  But  the  upshot,  Padrone,  the  upshot  ?  The  Doctor  never  can 
he  held  liable  for  this  money ! " 

"I'm  afraid!"  said  Mr.  Spencer.  "I'm  afraid!"  And  hav- 
ing made  his  communication,  my  father-in-law  retired  into  his 
shell  of  caution,  and  would  say  little  more  on  the  subject. 

"  What's  all  this,  Doctor,  about  the  Dumfries  Bank  ? "  was  my 
first  question  to  Dr.  Thorpe  next  day,  asked  as  early  as  I  could 
get  to  him  to  ask  it,  a  short  preliminary  for  greeting  being  dis- 
counted. 

"Money  matters,  Joe,  money  matters,"  said  he.  "Money  mat- 
ters don't  matter.  Don't  let  you  and  me  fret  about  them." 

"  But  how  much  money  is  it  that  doesn't  matter  in  this  case  ? " 

"Never  mind,  Joe.  It  will  be  all  right  in  the  end.  How  did 
you  leave  the  Poet  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hang  the  Poet!  At  least,  I  hope  he's  all  right.  Of  course 
I've  heard  nothing  of  him  for  three  weeks.  But  how  much  is 
the  money?  Do  tell  me  about  it,  Doctor." 

And  thus  urged  he  told  me  all  about  it.     It  was  fifteen  thou- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  427 

sand  pounds,  neither  more  nor  less,  for  which  the  failure  of  this 
Bank  had  made  him  legally  liable.  It  was  money  held  in  trust 
for  a  relation,  under  a  marriage  settlement  he  had  protested  against 
being  forced  into  when  he  was  quite  a  young  man.  He  had 
been  under  the  impression  for  some  twenty  years  past  that  the 
Trust  was  wound  up;  and  had  any  change  in  the  disposition 
of  the  funds  been  made  he  must  have  known,  as  his  signature 
would  have  been  required.  But  the  dividends  had  calmly  found 
their  way  to  Coutts's  through  all  that  long  time,  and  the  lady  who 
was  their  lawful  owner  had  received  them  and  promoted  Chris- 
tianity among  the  Jews  with  them,  and  restored  some  old  churches 
to  a  condition  they  had  never  been  in  before.  For  a  long  time 
past  there  had  been  (so  said  prophecy  post  actum)  suspicions  that 
the  Bank  was  shaky;  and  now  all  that  everybody  would  have 
said,  had  he  spoken  out  the  secrets  of  his  prophetic  heart,  had 
come  exactly  as  he  so  considerately  refrained  from  saying  it,  and 
the  Bank  had  suddenly  gone  smash.  The  worst  of  it  was  that 
the  Doctor  was  liable  as  a  shareholder  in  the  Bank,  and  the 
liability  was  not  limited.  Had  he  only  had  to  settle  with  his 
cestui  qui  trusts  it  would  have  been  easier;  but  he  and  his  fellow 
shareholders  had  to  face  the  liabilities,  and,  to  be  brief,  the  Doctor 
was  Bankrupt. 

"  I  don't  blame  anybody,  Joe,"  said  he,  "  except  my  family,  who 
took  their  part  in  nailing  and  thwacking  and  drubbing  and  hoot- 
ing a  young  man  of  my  then  age,  five-and-thirty  years  ago,  into 
a  position  he  did  not  understand  the  rights  of,  and  for  which  he 
was  totally  unfitted.  I  simply  acquiesced  in  what  seemed  to  me 
then  a  mere  formality,  a  kind  of  good-natured  courtesy  to  a  rela- 
tive. I  had  no  idea  I  was  going  security  for  anything,  and  I 
soon  forgot  all  about  it.  I  haven't,  for  twenty  years  certainly, 
been  asked  to  sign  any  document  which  would  remind  me  this 
Trust  existed.  In  fact,  I  thought  the  whole  thing  had  come  to 
an  end  long  ago.  The  last  document  I  signed  probably  was  a 
request  to  pay  all  dividends  into  my  cousin's  account  at  Coutts's. 
The  other  two  trustees  seem  to  have  died  and  made  no  sign — 
probably  they  too  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Spencer  says  the 
legalities  were  improperly  managed.  Very  likely!  They  often 
are.  But  that's  no  consolation.  What  does  it  matter  to  me  whether 
those  Joint-Stock  Bank  Shares  were  a  permissible  investment 
under  the  settlement?  It  comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end. 
I  am  the  sole  holder  of  fifteen  hundred  ten-pound  shares  in  a 
smashed  Bank,  and  am  liable  for  my  share  of  its  creditors'  claims, 
and  also  for  the  fund  I  had  in  Trust  to  its  actual  owner.  Spen- 


428  JOSEPH  VANCE 

cer  says  I  shall  have  my  claim  as  a  shareholder  as  well  as  my 
liability.  But  that  is  a  will-of-the-wisp !  Take  your  hands  out 
of  your  sleeves  and  open  your  lips  and  don't  glare,  dear  old  Joe. 
It  doesn't  really  matter.  All  will  come  right  in  the  end." 

I  suppose  the  Doctor's  stage-direction  to  me  applied  to  what 
an  Italian  would  have  called  an  analogous  attitude  on  my  part,  as 
I  sat  facing  him  in  his  old  chair  that  turned  on  its  axis.  I 
transferred  each  hand  to  its  breeches  pocket,  suppressed  the  glare, 
and  spoke. 

"  What  is  the  end  ?    The  Bankruptcy  Court  ? " 

"I  believe  I  shall  have  to  attend  at  that  Court  and  make  affi- 
davits. And  Poplar  Villa  will  be  put  up  for  sale.  Probably 
Nolly  and  Vi  and  Loss  will  buy  it  and  its  contents  and  let 
me  remain  on  as  a  caretaker.  I  wonder  if  the  court  compels  sale 
by  Auction — blest  if  I  know ! "  And  the  Doctor  took  a  very  long 
pinch,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  both  it  and  his  prospects. 

"  But,"  he  went  on,  "  that's  not  the  end  I  was  referring  to. — 
When  that  will  come  I  don't  know.  Probably  all  will  be  much 
Tighter  than  anything  we  can  imagine  within  a  reasonable  time, 
say  a  million  years.  Then  we  can  settle  down  comfortably  to  the 
enjoyment  of  Eternity." 

"  All  right,  Doctor.    But  what  do  the  others  say  about  it  ? " 

"  Vi  lays  claim  to  having  predicted  it.  But  she  doesn't  appear 
to  be  quite  clear  about  the  circumstances.  She  regards  it  as  a 
moral  lesson  to  people  that  don't  have  marriage  settlements.  Nolly 
looks  forward  with  professional  zest  to  getting  me  a  first-class 
certificate,  and  then  placing  his  whole  income  at  my  disposal. 
His  wife  Maisie  opens  her  eyes  as  wide  as  Portland  Place  and 
says  why  not?  She  can  always  find  time  to  sign  cheques,  she 
says,  and  Nolly  can  always  go  to  her  for  money.  She's  given 
him  a  book  full  of  signed  cheques  to  anticipate  demands,  and  is 
under  the  impression  that  if  he  overdraws  he  can  write  a  cheque 
for  the  amount  and  send  it  to  the  Banker." 

"Bony  knew  nothing  about  this." 

"  Why  should  he,  if  he  didn't  happen  to  see  Spencer  ? " 

"Isn't  Aunt  Izzy  dreadfully  upset?" 

"  She  is.  I  think  she  knows  something  has  gone  wrong  about 
money,  and  is  much  concerned.  But  what  she  thinks  it  is,  I  don't 
know.  Nor  does  Nolly.  You  know  Nolly  and  his  wife  are  com- 
ing to-night?" 

I  didn't,  but  they  were,  and  came.  Also  Aunt  Izzy  appeared 
in  due  course,  and  we  went  in  to  dinner.  Nolly's  wife  Maisie 
rather  justified  the  way  some  of  their  friends  described  them 


JOSEPH  VANCE  429 

as  Nolly  and  Dolly.  One  had  an  impression  that,  if  one  could 
devise  a  plausible  pretext  for  the  search,  one  might  find  the  end 
of  a  wire  somewhere,  which  would  open  and  shut  her  eyes.  She 
kept  up  her  old  intimacy  with  Jeannie,  and  was  Aunt  Maisie 
at  Cheyne  Kow.  Little  Flixie  had  christened  her  most  porten- 
tous daughter  after  her,  a  daughter  whose  legs  were  waxen  half- 
Wellingtons,  pulled  on  to  a  core  with  a  strange  flavour,  and 
Bony  and  I  used  to  laugh  about  the  likeness. 

It  was  after  dinner  and  had  come  to  real  home-grown  peaches 
off  the  end  wall  of  the  garden,  when  Aunt  Izzy  became  invested 
with  her  old  dim  genteel  remote  air,  noticed  by  Lossie,  and  thus 
addressed  her  brother  across  the  table. 

"  I'm  sure,  Kandall,  you  must  recollect  our  second  cousin  Sarah 
Carmichael-Jackson,  that  married  Archdeacon  Threlfall  of  Hales- 
wick  in  Somersetshire.  Not  Kate  Carmichael-Jackson.  She  had 
a  hare-lip  and  never  married,  but  Sarah." 

The  Doctor  assented  to  Sarah,  and  Aunt  Izzy  proceeded.  "  Well, 
dear,  I'm  afraid  she  lost  a  great  deal  of  money,  because  I  re- 
member when  I  was  a  girl  there  was  always  a  botheration  about 
her  settlement  money,  and  I  remember  it  was  all  put  in  the  Dum- 
fries and  Kincardineshire  Bank,  and  now  the  newspaper  says  a 
Dumfries  and  Kincardineshire  Bank  has  smashed  up.  Sarah  was 
a  rather  bony  girl  with  a  slight  limp,  and  they  say  she  had  a 
short  temper  and  led  the  Archdeacon  a  life.  But  her  cousin  Lady 
Penelope  Carmichael-Jackson,  etc.,  etc.,  etc." 

And  Aunt  Izzy  broke  loose  among  the  well-connected,  and  had 
a  high  old  time.  The  Doctor  didn't  interrupt  her.  "I'll  try  to 
explain  to-morrow,"  said  he.  "I  shall  have  to  write  her  a  letter 
under  her  eyes." 

Memory  cheats  me  now,  and  slips  away.  I  cannot  bring  her 
to  book.  This  is  almost  twenty-five  years  ago,  remember!  Then 
how  come  I  to  recollect  all  the  incidents  I  am  narrating?  The 
answer  is  that  I  don't,  if  you  mean  remember  every  word,  every 
gesture;  every  thought  of  my  own,  every  cough  of  my  neighbour. 
No  part  in  my  tale  is  quite  true  in  that  sense.  But  then  none 
is  false.  I  recollect  the  substance  by  gusts,  and  the  above  visit 
at  the  Doctor's  was  a  gust  that  blew  steadily. 

After  this  the  puffs  of  wind  are  very  intermittent  and  only 
now  and  then  raise  a  ripple  on  the  surface  of  the  puddle.  The 
surface  is  but  little  ruffled  until  the  return  of  Lossie,  who  with 
her  husband  got  to  Rome  in  the  October  following,  and  remained 
there  over  Christmas.  They  then  took  a  villa  near  Sorrento,  and 


430  JOSEPH  VANCE 

being  kept  reassured  about  the  Doctor's  affairs  by  carefully  writ- 
ten letters,  were  persuaded  not  to  risk  exposure  to  the  north  and 
to  remain  at  Sorrento  till  the  following  April. 

Now  anybody  would  have  thought  Beppino  would  have  rushed 
south  to  meet  his  sister.  But  he  didn't.  He  wrote  her  most 
affectionate  letters,  which  delighted  her,  many  of  which  she  sent 
on  to  me,  to  show  me  what  a  darling  the  Poet  was,  and  how 
true  and  affectionate.  But  though  he  was  always  going  next  week, 
he  never  went  until  the  ensuing  Easter,  when  he  contrived  to 
interfere  with  a  visit  of  Lossie  to  Florence  by  taking  it  into  his 
head  that  he  ought  to  see  Rome  at  Easter  in  the  interest  of 
Art.  He  wrote  to  her  at  this  time:  "For  I,  so  I  say,  am  a 
Poet.  Roman  nature,  behoves  that  I  know  it."  And  he  cer- 
tainly went  to  Rome,  and  Lossie  and  her  husband  and  children 
met  him  there,  and  stayed  on  to  be  with  him.  But  it  made 
them  so  late  that  Sir  Hugh  could  not  possibly  stop  on  for 
Florence;  and  Lossie  did  not  care  to  go  alone,  and  also  was 
anxious  to  be  with  her  Father  again  as  soon  as  the  spring  was 
warm  enough  for  the  children.  This  seems  trivial  detail,  but 
has  a  bearing  on  my  story.  It  is  quite  possible  that  had  Los- 
sie  gone  to  Florence,  some  doings  of  Master  Beppino's  there  would 
have  come  out  which  would  have  seriously  affected  the  current 
of  events.  As  it  was,  the  whole  party  arrived  early  in  May  at 
Charing  Cross  Station,  where  I  met  them,  and  Lossie  cried  over 
me  in  the  station  without  disguise.  I  can  feel  her  arms  round 
my  neck  still,  and  Hugh's  great  strong  hand  that  took  mine 
and  trembled  as  he  pressed  it;  and  the  same  face,  grayer  now, 
that  I  had  seen  in  the  mirror  at  Oxford,  with  the  same  look 
on  it.  "  Oh,  my  poor  boy ! — my  poor  boy !  "  cried  Lossie.  "  All 
alone !" 

But  no!  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  she  did  not  say  the  last 
two  words.  Yet  she  and  I  thought  them  in  such  unison  that  it 
came  to  the  same  thing. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

LOSSIE — SHE  HAS  NO  PATIENCE  WITH  DR.  THORPE'S  VICTIM.  BEPPINO 
AND  MISS  FULLER  PERCEVAL.  A  MYSTERIOUS  LETTER  FROM  FLOR- 
ENCE. BEPPINO'S  EXPLANATION.  THE  CENOTAPH  IN  PORTUGAL. 
JOE  CARRIES  THE  TURK  PAST  THE  DOCTOR'S  LIBRARY  DOOR.  O  GRAVE  1 
WHERE  IS  THY  VICTORY? 

THAT  was  a  strong  ripple  of  the  Memory  pool.  The  next  one 
brings  back  a  talk  with  Lossie  in  the  old  garden  at  Poplar  Villa. 
It  is  a  perfect  evening  in  June,  and  dinner  is  to  be  ever  so 
late,  please,  that  we  may  not  lose  the  sunset.  And  we  are  not 
losing  it.  We  have  been  watering  the  plants,  and  the  smell  of 
the  water  is  sweet  in  the  great  heat,  and  mixes  with  the  scent 
of  the  new-mown  hay.  And  the  rhythmic  ring  of  the  scythe  of 
Samuel,  growing  ever  thinner  and  thinner,  sings  the  song  I 
know  so  well,  about  a  little  boy  who  picked  stewing  pears  in 
that  tree;  and  about  a  many  things  that  shall  be,  long  years 
after,  fresh  in  that  boy's  grown-up  mind,  and  not  all  forgotten, 
as  I  think,  by  Lossie. 

But  of  course  I  cannot  guess  how  much  of  those  early  days 
she  remembers  now,  in  that  Florence  she  failed  to  visit  then, 
where  most  likely  she  will,  as  the  phrase  is,  end  her  days.  On 
that  June  evening  she  remembered  a  good  deal  and  talked  about  it. 

"  Well  now,"  said  she,  "  you  are  an  oblivious  old  Joe.  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you've  forgotten  thatf 

"Forgotten  what?" 

"Kiss  your  uncle  Joe,  Poppy,  and  call  him  an  old  slow-coach. 
Why,  of  course,  when  Nolly  lost  his  pet  snake,  and  you  and  he 
went  all  along  the  road  asking  about  it  at  every  house.  And 
old  Mr.  Tremlett  went  round  and  complained  to  the  Police."  Poppy 
was  the  little  girl.  She  dutifully  obeyed  her  mamma,  and  her 
uncle  Joe  can  still  shut  his  eyes  and  think  of  it  with  pleasure. 
She  called  me  an  Oat-oat-oats. 

"  Of  course  I  recollect  that,  Loss,"  said  I.  "  Old  Mr.  Tremlett's 
flute  wouldn't  blow  next  day,  and  when  he  took  the  top  joint  off, 
the  snake's  head  stuck  out  and  waggled,  and  wouldn't  hold  still  for 
him  to  get  it  on  again.  He  came  round  here  wild  with  terror,  and 
Noll  and  I  went  back  with  him  and  captured  the  serpent." 

431 


432  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  Oh,  dear— the  heat!  "  said  Lossie.    "  It's  as  hot  as  India!  " 

"  Come  I  say,  Loss !    Draw  it  mild !  " 

"Well — as  hot  as  India  when  the  thermometer's  the  same, 
No !  It's  worse.  At  least,  it's  worse  in  London.  The  air's  so  stuffy. 
Don't  let  Miss  Desprez  quite  choke  you.  You  dear,  good,  patient 
uncle  Joe!  Leave  off  kissing  your  uncle,  Poppy!  it's  too  hot  and 
sticky  for  anything.  Come  off ! "  And  Lossie  rescued  me  from 
her  daughter's  clutches,  and  sat  down  opposite  me  on  some  of  the 
hay-crop.  She  sat  there,  just  like  her  old  self,  filled  out  and 
rounded,  with  her  hands  round  her  knees  like  the  schoolgirl  of 
twenty  years  ago.  There  was  the  hair-bracelet  just  as  formerly, 
but  fitting  a  little  tighter. 

"How  nice  it  is,"  said  she,  "that  we've  still  got  the  Villa. 
Just  think  what  it  might  have  been  if  we  hadn't  all  been  so 
rich.  Fancy  an  auction  at  Poplar  Villa."  It  was  a  gruesome 
idea,  and  we  shuddered.  "  But  that's  all  safe,  at  any  rate.  Hugh 
says  it's  all  right,  because  poor  old  Lord  Fitzbroughton  is  sure 
to  die  long  before  the  Bank  affairs  culminate.  And  you 
know  when  that  happens  Hugh  will  come  into  a  lot  of 
property,  though  he  won't  have  the  title.  I'm  glad  of  that,  but 
sorry  we  shan't  get  the  old  place — Stoats-Leaze,  you  know.  It's 
just  like  Chesney  Wold,  and  I  should  have  liked  it.  But  I  don't 
understand  the  details  about  the  Bank." 

"  The  details  are  easy  enough.    Don't  you  see  it's  like  this " 

"  Go  on  and  tell — only  don't  say  assets  and  liabilities,  or  debit 
and  credit,  because  I  never  know  which  is  which.  Yes,  my  precious 
pet!  You  shall  go  to  sleep  on  Mamma,  and  squeeze  up.  Only 
you  really  ought  to  be  in  bed,  ducky ! "  And  Poppy's  mamma  let 
her  knees  go,  and  accommodated  the  applicant. 

"All  right,  Loss!  It's  very  simple.  The  creditors  are  to  find 
out  how  much  can  be  screwed  out  of  the  Doctor,  and  we  four 
have  guaranteed  the  amount.  We  shan't  have  to  square  up  till 
the  shareholders  have  done  wrangling.  Hugh  wants  to  pay  my 
share.  But  I  can't  be  kept  out  of  it  and  Maisie's  father  get  in 
— if  I  know  it!  The  Doctor  was  always  like  my  father — one  of 
my  fathers,  I  should  say." 

The  grave  gaze  of  Lossie's  eyes  as  she  sat  there  in  the  sunset 
light,  with  the  stray  uncontrollable  lock  of  hair  stirring  in  the 
sunset  wind,  reflected,  I  know,  what  the  recollection  of  my  own 
Father  showed  in  mine. 

"Poor  dear  old  Joe,"  said  she,  after  a  moment's  silence.  And 
then  resumed  the  conversation  reflectively : 

"  He  was  a  good,  creditable  old  Earl  to  behave  like  that.    You 


JOSEPH  VANCE  433 

know  I  was  here  the  day  he  came.  Of  course  Papa  said  it  was 
quite  impossible  at  first.  But  the  old  boy  was  so  urgent,  saying 
that  all  his  property  was  no  use  to  him  if  he  was  to  be  made 
miserable  for  life — and  he  certainly  would  if  Dr.  Thorpe,  whom 
he  had  revered  all  the  thoughtful  half  of  his  life,  was  put  up 
to  auction.  So,  as  I  understand,  Nolly  isn't  to  be  allowed  to 
contribute,  as  a  set-off.  Wake  up,  Popsy  darling!  She  ought  to 
be  in  bed  by  now,  it's  so  late.  You  may  carry  her  up  to  Nurse, 
dear  Joe,  for  a  treat,  if  you  like.  She  won't  wake,  I  know.  Nurse 
will  put  her  to  bed  without  waking  her.  She  did  the  other  night." 

"  Why  not  let  well  alone  ?  She's  sleeping  like  a  top.  What  more 
can  you  have  ?  The  others  will  be  back  soon."  For  the  two  elder 
ones  and  a  couple  of  cousins  who  were  staying  here  with  Aunt 
Vi  had  gone  to  an  afternoon  party  with  that  aunt  as  guardian. 
"  Let's  keep  her  till  they  come  back.  She's  such  a  treat." 

"  Yes — they're  delicious  when  they're  asleep.  But  when  they're 
awake,  they're  Turks."  So  the  Turk  slept  on;  now  and  then, 
as  I  judged  by  a  movement  of  her  lips,  kissing  some  other  Turk 
in  a  dream. 

"  I'm  afraid  Papa  is  miserable  about  that  detestable  Mrs.  Threl- 
fall  and  her  money.  Oh  no,  Joe,  it's  no  use  trying  to  make 
me  sorry  for  her.  I've  no  patience  with  people  of  that  sort !  " 

"I  admit  that  she  might  have  been  nicer  about  it.  But  it  was 
no  fault  of  hers.  The  fault  was  in  the  blessed  system  of  making 
every  one  a  Trustee,  whether  or  no.  However,  if  the  Bank  pays 
ten  shillings  in  the  pound  she'll  get  back  half  her  money." 

"But  that  won't  make  Papa's  mind  easy.  He  frets  about  it 
dreadfully.  I'm  sure  that  attack  he  had  on  Thursday  was  caused 
by  that  horrible  letter  of  hers.  'Preying  on  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless,'  indeed!  It's  her  own  fault  if  she's  a  widow — she  wor- 
ried that  poor  little  pot-bellied  Archdeacon  into  his  grave.  And 
as  for  fatherless,  when  one's  father  is  seventy-three  when  one's 
born,  and  one  is  sixty-eight  oneself,  how  old  would  one's  father  be 
if  he  hadn't  swallowed  a  cork  that  blew  into  his  throat  out  of 
a  soda-water  bottle  at  seventy-five,  when  one  was  two?  Do  the 
sum,  Joe ! " 

"  Sixty  and  seventy's  a  hundred  and  thirty.  Six  and  five's 
eleven.  A  hundred  and  forty-one.  But  most  likely  she  was  re- 
ferring to  her  own  children  as  the  swindled  orphans." 

"  She — children !  She  never  had  any.  Couldn't  have !  She 
might  have  had  rocking-horses,  or  packing-cases  ;  but  she  couldn't 
have  had  children.  My  precious ! "  Popsy  had,  I  presume,  kissed 
a  Turk, 


434  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"I  wish  I  had  been  here  when  the  Doctor  had  that  attack  on 
Thursday.  I  can't  make  out  if  it  was  more  or  less  than  the 
one  I  saw  before  I  went  to  Italy/' 

"  I'm  afraid  he  was  in  great  pain.  I  only  came  in  just  as 
he  was  coming  round.  But  that  detestable  woman's  letter  was 
on  the  table  and  I  know  it  was  that  brought  it  on." 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  it  was  worse.  I  wish  something  very  pleasant 
would  come  about  to  counteract." 

"  Well,  you  know,  if  this  affair  of  Beppino  and  Miss  Fuller 
Perceval  comes  to  anything,  that  will  be  something  pleasant."  For 
when  Beppino  returned  with  them  in  April,  he  had  recommenced 
his  attentions  to  Park  Lane,  with  the  additional  advantage  of 
his  devotion  having  survived  seven  months'  separation.  He  was 
getting  a  good  deal  of  credit  for  this,  especially  with  Lossie. 
"  Fancy,"  said  she,  "  the  dear  child  out  there  by  himself  pining 
for  his  love !  "  Fancy,  indeed !  It  appeared  (shortly  after  his 
return)  that  he  had  a  year  previously  offered  his  hand  and  heart 
to  the  heiress,  and  had  made  official  application  to  the  father.  The 
latter  had  suggested  that  as  his  daughter  was  young,  the  genuine- 
ness of  her  sentiments  should  be  tested  by  separation;  and  that 
a  winter  in  Italy  would  not  do  the  Poet  any  harm.  This  ac- 
counted for  Beppino's  readiness  to  go  away  with  me — my  pro- 
posal to  take  him  was  fortuitous,  rather  singularly  so.  He  had 
corresponded  intermittently  with  his  adored  Sibyl  during  the  whole 
of  his  exile;  but  I  suspect  had  engineered  his  desire  to  go  to 
his  sister  at  Sorrento  as  an  excuse  for  delaying  his  return  some- 
what beyond  date.  There  did  not,  however,  seem  to  have  been 
any  doubt  in  her  father's  mind  about  his  constancy.  Perhaps 
a  well-grounded  faith  in  thousands  a  year  prospective,  and  a  hand- 
some allowance  down,  contributed  to  this. 

As  this  is  not  really  a  narrative,  and  it  is  an  easement  to 
me  to  be  disjointed,  I  will  interleave  an  incident  of  Beppino's  re- 
turn, before  I  resume  my  conversation  with  Lossie  in  the  garden. 

Just  after  the  party  started  from  Rome  to  return  to  London, 
meaning  to  stop  a  day  in  Paris  by  the  way,  a  letter  came  to  Poplar 
Villa  addressed  thus,  and  bearing  the  Florence  postmark: 


Illmo:  Signore 

Signor  Giuseppe  Vance 

Villa  Thorpe 
BALHAMM  Inghilterra 


JOSEPH  VANCE  435 

I  naturally  supposed  this  to  be  intended  for  me,  and  brought 
it  away  in  my  pocket.  When  I  opened  it,  I  was  amazed  to  find 
a  passionate  love-letter,  written  in  very  Tuscan  Italian,  and  signed 
fino  al  tuo  Bramatissimo  ritorno  la  tua  addoloratissima  Annuncia- 
tina.  It  began  "  Adoratissimo  mio  Beppino,"  and  I  had  only  to 
glance  at  the  first  and  last  words  to  see  that  it  was  not  meant 
for  me.  A  moment's  further  thought  connected  it  with  Beppino's 
involuntary  adoption  of  my  name.  He  had  been  at  some  folly, 
or  wickedness;  and  some  Italian  girl  had  been  duped  or  vic- 
timized by  him.  That  was  clear.  But  a  natural  reluctance  to 
read  another  person's  letter  prevented  my  making  myself  master 
of  its  contents,  as  I  might  have  done.  I  enclosed  the  letter  back 
to  him  at  once,  and  was  free  from  further  temptation  to  look 
at  it.  I  determined,  however,  to  speak  to  him  about  it,  and  tell  him 
that  (though  I  had  not  read  it)  what  I  had  been  unable  to  avoid 
seeing  would  reflect  on  him  unless  he  could  furnish  some  explana- 
tion. He  anticipated  me  in  this,  speaking  about  it  without  em- 
barrassment; but  nevertheless  (I  thought  I  noticed)  choosing  a 
moment  to  do  so,  when  we  were  alone,  and  not  likely  to  be 
interrupted.  His  explanation  was  as  follows:  He  was  writing 
a  novel,  in  which  he  had  to  supply  love-letters  in  Italian,  writ- 
ten by  a  girl  whose  husband  or  lover  had  deserted  her.  Although 
he  had  acquired  some  Italian  during  his  stay  in  Florence,  still 
he  was  not  able  to  manage  the  letters  without  help,  and  he  asked 
a  lady  whom  he  had  recently  met,  who  was  half  English,  half 
Italian,  to  write  him  one  or  two  samples.  He  had  roughed  one 
out  in  English  and  left  it  with  her  to  translate  for  him,  and 
for  a  joke  had  addressed  it  to  himself;  and  she  for  another  joke 
had  signed  her  own  name  to  the  translation.  Annunciatina  Torna- 
buoni  was  her  name  (but  her  mother  had  been  an  Englishwoman), 
and  she  was  married  to  an  eminent  Italian  avvocato.  "  You 
wouldn't  suspect  Signora  Tornabuoni  of  writing  me  a  real  love- 
letter  if  you  saw  her,"  said  Beppino.  "Her  daughter  might — 
only  not  very  likely,  as  she's  just  going  to  be  married  to  a  man 
named  Draper."  It  appeared  very  plausible,  especially  when 
Beppino  produced  a  sheet  of  MS.  of  his  novel  containing 
an  English  version  of  the  Italian  letter,  and  showed  the  letter 
itself  for  me  to  compare  the  two.  "  But  I  say,  Juvence," 
said  he,  "I  know  you'll  be  a  dear  good  filler,  and  not  say 
a  word  to  any  one,  not  even  to  Lossie,  about  the  novel.  I  do 
so  want  to  keep  it  a  secret  till  it's  finished."  This  supplied  a 
reason  for  his  confidential  way  of  speaking  to  me,  and  I  was 
quite  taken  in  at  the  time,  and  indeed  felt  that  I  had  done 


436  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Beppino  injustice.  "  I  had  no  idea  she  would  write  off  so  promptly," 
said  he,  "  or  I  would  have  taken  care  to  impress  upon  her  that 
she  really  must  direct  to  me  by  my  real  name.  Of  course  if 
I  had  been  here  it  wouldn't  have  mattered.  He  had  been  say- 
ing a  good  deal  about  the  absurd  way  in  which  Vance  had  been 
accepted  and  Thorpe  rejected  by  his  Florentine  friends.  So  this 
seemed  plausible,  too.  I  will  now  go  back  to  Lossie,  whom  I 
have  left  in  the  garden. 

"  That  will  be  something  nice,"  said  she.  "  And  he  is  so  good, 
and  always  has  been.  And  he  seems  completely  devoted  to  her, 
and  she  to  him."  Lossie  was  looking  at  the  sleeping  Turk,  luck- 
ily. So  I  had  not  to  keep  my  countenance  in  check  under  diffi- 
culties. Perhaps  if  she  had  looked  up  at  me  I  might  still  have 
succeeded  in  doing  so,  by  recalling  the  Lossie  of  old,  on  that  very 
grass-patch,  and  little  Joey  just  the  age  of  the  Turk,  three-and- 
twenty  years  ago.  The  image  came  to  me  in  time  to  hearten 
me  up  to  say  something,  I  forget  what,  in  praise  of  the  Beppino 
he  had  changed  into. 

"But  why  did  you  say,  Loss,"  I  continued,  "if  it  comes  to 
anything? — I  was  regarding  it  as  settled." 

"  Oh — I  only  meant  that  there  are  so  many  slips  between  the 
cup  and  the  lip.  Of  course  it  is  as  good  as  settled.  They'll  be 
disgustingly  rich,  like  me  and  Hugh.  I  think  it  is  too  bad, 
dear  old  boy!  You're  the  only  one  of  us  that  isn't  as  rich  as 
Croesus."  And  Lossie  looked  up  from  the  absorbing  Turk,  and 
met  my  eyes,  that  said,  "What  should  I  do  with  all  the  gold,  if 
I  had  it  ?  "  I  had  never  a  word  to  say,  and  said  none.  "  Oh,  poor 
Joe — poor  old  Joe,"  said  she.  "How  one  is  always  in  want 
of  Papa  to  say  it  will  be  all  right  in  the  end ! "  I  recovered  my 
voice.  "  It  must  be  either  all  right,  or  we  be  all*nothing.  That 
won't  hurt  us !  Just  think  what  a  lot  of  people  are  not  in  exist- 
ence at  all  and  never  have  been;  and  are  absolutely,  serenely 
happy!  They  are  not  in  a  position  to  give  three  cheers  for  non- 
existence,  or  I  have  no  doubt  they  would."  But  in  spite  of  this 
absurd  metaphysical  excursion,  I  felt  I  wanted  Dr.  Thorpe's  re- 
frain, or  the  chord  of  the  Waldstein.  Lossie  took  no  notice  of 
my  nonsense.  She  paused  as  I  thought  to  nip  tears  in  the  bud; 
and  then  harked  back,  taking  my  unspoken  speech  for  granted. 

"What  would  you  have  done  with  it,  I  wonder?" 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind  what  I  shall  do  with  Janey's  settlement 
money — and  Mr.  Spencer  quite  agrees.  I  shall  give  it  all  to  life- 
boats— every  penny." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  437 

"  But  then  how  about  the " 

"The  thing  on  the  promontory?"  For  Lossie  had  hung  fire 
over  a  column  of  marble  I  had  told  her  I  meant  to  place  on  the 
coast  at  San  Joaquim.  "  I  can  manage  that  well  enough." 

"  Joe  dear !  Before  you  settle  it,  do  think  about  what  I  said. 
Make  it  twice  as  big  and  let  me  pay  half,  and  only  put  my 
name  in  small  in  a  corner — somewhere  in  a  corner.  It  would 
make  me  so  happy.  Just  think,  Joe!  It's  over  twenty  years  now 
since  you  were  The  Boy,  and  I  showed  you  and  Joey  the  black 
men  perishing  by  thousands,  you  remember  ? " 

"Rather.  Especially  because  we  never  saw  the  black  men,  and 
I've  felt  sore  about  it  ever  since." 

"Never  mind!  We'll  find  them.  They  must  be  in  the  house, 
and  Poppy  shall  show  us  them.  Won't  you,  my  precious  darling? 
But,  dear  Joe,  you  will  think  about  what  I  say,  and  let  me  in." 

"I  don't  think  Janey  will  mind."  A  passing  puzzle  crossed 
Lossie's  face. 

"  No — dear  boy — I'm  sure  she  wouldn't  have  minded."  But  I 
was  obstinate.  "I'm  sure  she  won't  mind,"  said  I,  and  I  looked 
her  full  in  the  face. 

"  Oh  dear ! "  said  she,  with  a  sort  of  gasp.  "  How  happy  one 
could  be  if  you  and  Papa  were  right ! "  For  Lossie  knew  her 
Father's  ideas;  and  that  I  to  a  great  extent  shared  them;  saw 
(so  to  speak)  the  sea  he  swam  in,  but  dared  not  plunge  in  her- 
self. I  am  not  sure  that  she  believed  he  was  really  afloat..  She 
had  once  asked  me  if  I  didn't  think  his  notion  about  the  Ghost 
in  the  Corpse  might  not  really  be  a  mere  re-echoing  of  the 
religious  teaching  of  his  childhood. 

"  May  he  not  have  thought  St.  Paul  really  meant  what  he  said  ? " 
said  she.  "  And  may  not  that,  and  his  own  firm  belief  in  the  Resur- 
rection of  our  Lord,  have  produced  the  sort  of  physical  impression 
he  speaks  of,  of  being  an  Ego  in  a  bottle?  I  think  that's  how  he 
put  it."  And  I  had  replied  to  this  that  the  impression  was  still 
stronger  in  Janey,  who  had  certainly  not  had  a  religious  teach- 
ing like  Dr.  Thorpe's  in  her  childhood.  She  had  been  brought 
up  by  a  mother  who  erased  whatever  she  thought  nonsense  from 
the  Evangelists — leaving  only  plain,  honest,  straightforward  com- 
mon sense — and  a  father  whose  constant  critical  analysis  naturally 
trained  his  children  to  regard  revelation  as  a  curious  open  ques- 
tion. Yet  Janey's  last  words  to  me  as  the  darkness  closed  over 
us,  and  left  me  to  hold  an  unresponsive  hand  with  the  last  of 
my  failing  strength,  were  spoken  with  confidence— not  the  con- 
fidence of  mustered  faith  that  rallies  for  a  battle  with  doubt, 


438  JOSEPH   VANCE 

but  an  easy  certainty  of  a  thing  to  be.  However,  I  am  travelling 
too  far  away  from  that  garden. 

"  You  know/'  I  replied  to  Lossie's  last  remark,  "  I  always  feel 
the  Conditional  Mood  is  disloyal  to  Janey,  when  she  herself  was 
so  clear  about  it.  So  I  prefer  the  Indicative.  I  have  got  to  think 
that  way.  It  is  she  and  the  Doctor  have  made  me " 

"  Very  well,  dear  Joe,  it  shall  be  your  way.  Janey  won't  mind 
if  you  do.  So  you'll  let  me — let  us — go  halves  in  the  column. 
You've  got  the  ground  ?  " 

"I  wrote  to  the  abadia,  and  got  a  letter  in  Portuguese.  You 
wouldn't  be  any  the  wiser  if  I  showed  it  you.  But  I  know 
what's  in  it.  They  can't  give  up  the  fee-simple  of  any  of  their 
land,  but  I  may  put  up  the  column  almost  anywhere  I  choose, 
and  it  will  be  safe  from  molestation.  They  will  take  charge  of 
it.  The  letter  says  ( nothing  changes  here.  The  sea  rolls,  and 
the  ships  pass,  but  nothing  changes.  The  Senhor  may  rest  secure.' 
So  it  shall  be  as  you  wish,  Lossie  dear!  That  sounds  like  a 
dinner-warning.  May  I  carry  Popsy?" 

I  might,  and  I  carried  that  unconscious  scrap  of  soft,  deep  sleep 
into  the  house.  I  remember  this  all  so  well,  as  well  I  may!  We 
go  into  the  house  up  the  little  flight  of  stone  steps  that  sticks 
out  sideways  from  the  wall,  and  Lossie  says  take  care  of  her 
head.  And  I  take  care  of  her  head.  Then  in  the  passage  we 
are  met  by  a  tempest  of  older  babies,  just  returning  from  the 
party.  They  hang  on  me  and  make  me  apprehensive  about  her 
head.  Vi  says  she  wouldn't  trust  her  with  me  if  she  was  Lossie. 
We  pass  the  library  door,  as  Anne,  the  nurse,  says  Master  has 
gone  to  his  room.  But  the  tempest  surges  up  the  stairs,  and 
I  convey  the  Turk  safely  to  her  couch,  still  sleeping  profoundly. 
As  we  pass  the  Doctor's  dressing-room,  I  notice  that  the  door  is 
on  the  jar.  He  may  have  soon  finished  his  slight  preparations  for 
dinner  and  be  downstairs  all  the  time.  But  then  why  did  he  never 
come  out,  with  all  that  racket  of  excited  children  in  the  passage? 
It  was  not  like  him  to  let  them  pass  up  to  bed  unkissed.  The 
two  mothers  are  too  much  behind  time  for  anything  but  immediate 
promptitude  in  dressing,  and  I  don't  fancy  what  occurs  to  me 
crosses  the  mind  of  any  one  else.  He  may  be  ill,  in  the  Library. 

They  disperse  to  their  rooms,  and  then  I  go  down  to  the  Library 
to  see.  No  sound  comes  from  the  room  to  allay  my  anxiety,  and 
I  half  lack  courage  to  open  the  door.  But  he  may  be  asleep. 

I  say,  "  It's  dinner  time,  Doctor,"  but  I  hear  misgiving  in  my 
own  voice.  No  answer  comes,  and  I  pass  in. 

The  Doctor  is  sitting  in  his  old  chair,  where  I  sat  on  his 


JOSEPH   VANCE  439 

knee  and  did  Euclid.  His  head  rests  on  his  hand,  and  when  I 
speak  he  does  not  move.  I  touch  him  and  feel  something  amiss, 
and  still  he  does  not  move.  I  go  out,  closing  the  door  with  absurd 
gentleness  as  if  he  slept.  A  servant  is  within  call,  whom  I  send 
at  once  for  medical  assistance.  Then  I  go  upstairs  again,  and 
knock  at  Lossie's  door.  She  thinks  it  is  shoes,  and  says  put  them 
down  outside.  I  reply,  "It's  me — Joe.  I  want  you,"  and  she 
opens  the  door,  pulling  on  a  dressing-gown  with  a  scared  face. 
She  sees  half  of  it  at  once.  "Then  Papa's  ill,"  she  says.  1 
say  yes,  and  we  go  down  to  the  Library.  She  goes  up  to  the 
motionless  figure  on  the  chair,  as  I  had  done,  and  lays  one  hand 
on  its  shoulder,  and  says,  "  Papa."  And  then  again,  "  Papa  dear." 
But  there  is  no  movement,  and  she  lays  her  free  hand  on  the  hand 
that  I  can  see  even  in  the  dusk  is  too  white — and  starts  back  with 
a  cry,  and  I  prevent  her  falling. 

There  is  a  step  behind  us,  and  it  is  her  husband — I  am  not 
quite  unconscious  of  a  kind  of  relief  at  the  presence  of  the  great 
strong  man  that  has  seen  so  many  die.  He  takes  Lossie  from  me, 
and  I  go  upstairs  to  tell  Vi — breaking  it  by  a  fiction  of  a  dan- 
gerous attack — and  to  prevent  the  children  knowing !  Time  enough 
for  that  next  day!  I  remember  every  detail. 

It  is  too  late — even  for  injections  of  morphia — but  it  is  as  well 
to  try.  Trying  only  confirms  its  uselessness,  and  nothing  is  left 
for  us  now  but  the  miserable  activities  that  drag  so  heavily  on 
the  hearts  of  survivors.  And  then  we  say,  and  try  to  believe, 
that  it  is  good  to  have  to  exert  oneself.  We  all  do  so,  except 
Violet,  who  breaks  down.  She  is  not  a  strong  character,  like  her 
sister,  who  after  the  first  shock  is  white,  but  resolute.  Many  things 
have  to  be  done,  and  done  promptly,  and  I  stay  on  till  late  into 
the  night.  Then  at  last  Lossie  is  prevailed  upon  to  go  to  bed.  She 
dares  not  go  to  sleep,  she  says,  for  fear  of  waking.  Hugh  and 
I  look  at  the  sleeping  children  for  a  respite,  and  then  I  go  away 
towards  the  dawn,  just  breaking  over  London. 

I  do  not  care  to  accept  the  offer  of  a  four-wheeler  cab  to  take 
me,  slower  than  I  could  walk,  to  a  place  I  do  not  want  to  go 
to,  for  a  sum  the  driver  knows  I  should  be  ashamed  to  pay  him 
at  the  end  of  the  trip.  I  shun  its  damp  and  mouldy  inner  life, 
its  incapable  lurching,  its  windows  that  will  neither  come  up 
nor  stop  up,  its  woe-begone  one-horse  power!  I  walk  on  through 
the  sweetness  of  the  morning,  and  think  if  the  Spirit  released 
from  the  Body  were  given  a  chance  to  return,  what  choice  would 
it  make?  Would  it  shrink,  as  I  did  from  that  cab,  and  drink  in 
the  ether  of  a  new  life,  as  I  drank  in  the  smell  of  the  new- 


440  JOSEPH  VANCE 

mown  hay?  And  I  walk  on  in  a  strange  state  of  mind  that  I 
can  only  describe  as  wondering  if  my  fixed  belief  is  really  true. 
True  or  false,  it  was  Janey  and  the  Doctor  had  made  it. 

In  a  few  days  I  was  looking  down  into  a  new-made  grave  at 
a  brass  plate  on  which  was  the  inscription  "  Kandall  Thorpe — Born 
1806,  died  1874."  And  I  said  to  Hugh  as  we  walked  together  from 
the  Cemetery,  preferring  to  discard  the  black  coaches,  "He  was 
to  me  all  a  father  could  be,  and  more  than  most  fathers  are  to 
any  son."  But  the  memory  of  my  dear  old  Daddy  was  none  the 
less  in  my  mind,  that  I  was  able  to  think  thus  of  my  beloved 
old  friend. 

And  then  as  the  undertakers  died  away  to  the  beer-shop,  and 
left  "  O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  O  Grave,  where  is  thy  vic- 
tory?" to  speak  for  itself,  his  own  words,  like  the  Chord  in  the 
Waldstein,  rang  in  my  mind  again  and  again,  "Leave  it  all  in 
God's  hands.  All  will  be  right  in  the  end."  And  when  Hugh 
and  I  got  home,  we  found  that  Violet  had  been  much  dissatisfied 
with  "the  way  things  had  been  done"  and  implied  that  such 
miscarriage  was  due  to  some  conspiracy  of  Atheists,  not  specified 
by  name,  but  rampant. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

JOEJS  ABSENCE  FROM  BEPPINO's  WEDDING.  VULGARITY.  BANALITY.  AN- 
OTHER LETTER  FROM  FLORENCE.  JEANNIE  DETECTS  A  FAINT  SMELL 
OF  A  DEVIL.  BUT  BEPPINO  GETS  HIS  LETTER, 

IF  I  were  to  note  that  Beppino  married  his  heiress  in  due  course, 
I  should  have  done  all  that  is  needed  for  consecutiveness.  As  to 
why  I  did  not  go  to  his  wedding,  it  was  ostensibly  because  I 
was  compelled  to  go  over  to  Paris  on  business  the  day  before;  but 
actually  for  reasons  which  shall  appear  after  I  have  stirred  up 
my  Memory  puddle  to  see  if  anything  comes  to  the  surface  about 
that  expensive  ceremonial.  I  don't  know  whether  the  intense 
absence  of  Vulgarity,  or  the  price  of  the  Orchids,  has  the  first 
place  in  my  recollection.  The  latter  were  at  very  high  quota- 
tions; but  I  think  the  reason  I  recollect  them,  is  because  Lossie 
alluded  to  the  pain  it  would  give  to  be  cauterized  for  one  if 
you  had  it  on  the  tip  of  your  nose.  She  and  I  sympathized  over 
Orchids,  or  rather  antipathized  in  chorus.  We  were  in  a  minority, 
and  indeed  hardly  accounted  worthy  of  scorn. 

I  realized  during  the  period  in  which  I  looked  forward  to  wit- 
nessing the  wedding,  that  I  was  about  to  be  inducted  into  a  higher 
and  purer  atmosphere.  The  absence  of  vulgarity  was  anticipated 
and  insisted  on  with  denunciatory  vigor;  and  I  always  felt  when 
this  was  done  in  my  presence  that  I  was  being  pointed  out  as  a 
painful  example.  I  might  be  improved  by  my  incidental  hoist 
up  Olympus,  but  should  certainly  backslide  when  let  alone.  It 
was  no  small  consolation  that  Lossie  was  my  companion  in  de- 
pravity— she  being  really  as  bad  as  myself.  However,  we  could  al- 
ways admire  prices,  so  Beppino  told  us  about  them  that  we  might 
not  be  out  in  the  cold.  But  he  spoke  over  our  heads  to  our  superiors 
about  the  exquisite  subtlety  of  the  design  of  the  Venetian  lace 
Sibyl  was  to  wear,  adding  details  of  date  in  an  undertone  for  them, 
not  for  us.  We  received  as  little  quarter  in  Art  matters  from  Bep- 
pino as  we  did  in  religious  ones  from  Violet.  Reasons  why,  for 
this,  were  quite  beyond  my  grasp.  I  don't  know  what  either  of  us 
had  done  to  provoke  it. 

Well  then! — although  I  did  not  go  to  the  wedding,  Beppino 

441 


442  JOSEPH   VANCE 

and  Sibyl  were  married.  The  affair  came  off  in  Somersetshire 
at  Parrettsdown,  where  Mr.  Fuller  Perceval's  country  house  was, 
in  a  Parish  Church,  which,  though  not  large,  is  a  perfect  speci- 
men of  Tudor — at  least  it  was  then;  but  it  has  been  judiciously 
restored  since,  I  believe.  They  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  a  full 
Choral  Service,  and  of  absence  from  Hanover  Square.  The  wed- 
ding was  implied  to  have  scored  heavily  by  not  being  at  St. 
George's — it  was  even  suggested  that  it  took  place  in  the  country 
in  order  to  avoid  that  saint.  A  good  deal  of  trouble  was  always 
being  taken  to  dodge  banality.  But  when  turned  out  at  the 
door  it  came  in  at  the  window.  I  believe  the  Orchids  were  a 
case  in  point,  being  denounced  as  banal  by  an  opposition  bride, 
who  flatly  refused  to  have  anything  to  say  to  Orchids  and  would 
have  nothing  but  roses  all  through.  If  you  search  among  the 
new  varieties  of  Floriculture  that  appeared  about  ?73,  I  think  you 
will  find  a  rose  called  the  Barclay  Bellasys,  and  an  orchid  called 
the  Fuller  Perceval.  I  saw  the  latter — it  was  like  a  lobster-claw 
hooked  by  its  point  to  a  gangrene.  Both  were  christened  as  results 
of  these  weddings. 

But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joseph  Thorpe's  orchids  have  nothing  to  do 
with  my  story?  No,  they  haven't.  But  banality  has,  indirectly. 
For  when  Italy  was  proposed  for  their  wedding-tour,  Beppino  arose 
and  denounced  that  land  of  Cook's  tourists  as  quite  out  of  date. 
"Good  Ged,"  he  exclaimed,  «  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage— Sam 
Rogers — oh  law ! "  And  Miss  Sibyl  had  joined  chorus — having 
evidently  had  the  proper  attitude  indicated  to  her.  It  did  not 
matter  to  the  family  whether  the  happy  turtle  doves  went  to 
Florence  or  Avignon,  which  was  the  final  choice.  Mr.  Fuller  Per- 
ceval was  not  in  a  position,  owing  to  his  life  having  been  paseed 
at  meets  of  hounds,  and  in  shooting  over  properties,  varied  with 
the  curious  interlude  of  being  a  Warming  Pan  in  the  House,  to 
dispute  his  daughter's  authority  on  belles  lettres,  beaux  Arts,  and 
so  forth.  So  when  he  began,  apropos  of  Florence,  "  But  I  thought 

Ruskin "  he  was  stopped  by  an  appearance  of  amused  despair 

on  Sibyl's  face;  and  two  outstretched,  out-thrown  hands,  surren- 
dering all  points,  but  appealing  as  it  were  to  Heaven  and  the 
public  to  state  a  case  for  some  other  court.  "Really — dear  Papa 
— Ruskin  1 "  said  she.  Beppino  turned  round  appealingly  to  me 
with  a  smile  of  pity  and  the  slightest  shrug.  For  I  was  dining 
at  the  Park  Lane  palace  by  invitation — the  only  time  I  ever  was 
in  the  house,  by  the  way! — and  had  put  my  foot  in  the  Arts, 
the  Chace,  and  Political  Life,  all  the  evening.  Beppino  only 
gave  me  half  his  shrug,  remembering  in  time  what  an  Ishmael 


JOSEPH   VANCE  443 

I  was;  and  passed  on  the  remainder  to  a  poor  accidental  gentle- 
man who  had  somehow  got  asked  by  mistake;  and  who  was  so 
glad  to  be  allowed  inside  the  conversation  that  he  became  quite 
vociferous. 

So  it  was  decided  that  Florence  was  banal  and  Cook's-tourist 
—a  new  adjective — but  that  Avignon  wasn't;  at  least  not  yet! 
It  would  be  very  soon,  but  we  could  go  there  for  a  little. 

Now  if  all  this  had  happened  in  the  beginning  of  next  century 
(how  near  it  is  now  to  the  end  of  the  nineteenth!) — it  would 
have  been  quite,  as  I  anticipated,  in  harmony  with  the  accepted. 
Happening  over  twenty-five  years  ago,  it  shows  how  hard  Beppino 
and  his  fiancee  were  to  get  abreast  of.  They  were  indeed  advanced. 

I  was  living  at  my  own  house  now,  as  I  had  made  the  effort 
and  gone  back  again  after  taxing  Bony  and  his  wife  to  the 
utmost  pitch  (so  it  seemed  to  me)  of  human  patience.  My  step- 
mother had  gone  to  her  family  at  the  farm  in  Worcestershire. 
It  would  have  been  more  convenient  to  me  to  go  into  chambers, 
but  I  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  moving  anything  Janey  had 
left.  Lossie  and  her  husband  and  babies  and  her  foreign  retinue 
would  have  used  the  house  readily,  and  I  should  have  liked  it; 
but  then  how  about  Poplar  Villa,  to  which  she  clung  as  much 
as  I  did  to  my  own  home?  Or  rather,  I  should  say,  from  dis- 
mantling which  she  shrank  as  much.  I  admitted  to  myself  when 
I  had  made  the  change,  that  it  really  mattered  very  little  where 
one  was — for  the  rest  of  the  time.  That  was  the  way  I  put  it. 
The  time  has  been,  exactly  reckoned,  twenty-seven  years.  How 
long  will  it  have  been  at  the  end  of  it? 

When  I  got  home  from  Park  Lane  very  late  that  night,  which 
was  in  the  spring  not  very  long  before  Beppino's  wedding,  I 
found  a  heap  of  letters  awaiting  me.  I  was  very  sleepy,  and  very 
ill-humoured  as  one  sometimes  is  after  an  ill-chosen  dining-out. 
I  had  drunk  the  best  of  champagne,  had  smoked  a  priceless  cigar, 
had  kept  up  a  lying  pretence  that  though  I  wasn't  in  the  confidence 
of  Pall  Mall  and  Downing  Street,  there  was  no  particular  reason 
why  I  shouldn't  be,  and  had  been  ungrateful  and  beaten  my  host 
at  billiards  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning.  But  as  soon  as 
I  got  away,  I  felt  I  had  been  a  round  man  in  a  square  hole  or 
vice  versa;  and  resolved  I  wouldn't  have  any  more  to  do  with 
Park  Lane,  or  Park  anything.  Then  I  called  myself  a  cur- 
mudgeon, and  acknowledged  that  it  was  no  fault  of  my  hosts. 
After  all,  they  could  not  be  worldly  at  heart,  or  they  never  would 
have  consented  to  this  marriage.  Then  I  bolted  the  top  and  bot- 
tom bolt,  and  put  up  the  chain,  and  carried  my  letters  up  into 


444  JOSEPH  VANCE 

the  back  drawing-room,  where  I  kept  all  my  writing  traps  be- 
cause Janey  had  hers  there;  and  sat  down  at  her  own  writing- 
table  and  turned  up  the  gas. 

"  Hullo ! "  It  was  I  said  this  to  myself.  "  Who's  writing  to 
me  with  the  Florence  postmark  ?  And  why  to  Poplar  Villa  ? "  For 
it  had  gone  there,  and  been  directed  on  by  Lossie.  "Why,  of 
course,"  I  pursued,  to  myself,  "it's  Beppino's  lady-correspondent 
again.  Why  on  earth  can't  he  send  her  out  a  directed  envelope, 
to  start  her  ? "  But  I  was  far  too  sleepy  to  solve  the  problem, — 
and  I  "  bothered  "  all  the  other  letters,  and  let  them  stay  till  to- 
morrow and  went  to  bed. 

When  the  young  man  who  (acting  in  conjunction  with,  or  de- 
fiance of,  my  cook)  ran  my  household  in  those  days  came  in  with 
my  hot  water  in  the  morning,  I  was  half  awake  listening  to  a 
thunder-storm.  "  Pips,"  I  said,  "  make  less  noise.  I  want  to 
hear  the  thunder."  For  Janey  used  to  enjoy  listening  to  thun- 
der; and  even  if  I  had  not  always  been  partial  to  it  myself,  I 
should  have  enjoyed  it  for  that  reason.  Pips  said,  "Eight,  Sir," 
and  the  clap  came  like  a  great  gun  followed  by  musketry;  and 
the  rain,  which  had  stood  civilly  waiting  for  the  thunder  to  finish, 
came  down  like  Niagara.  In  a  few  minutes  the  household  realized 
that  water  was  coming  in  in  an  empty  top  room,  and  Pips  had 
been  shouted  to  by  his  master  to  clear  that  front  gutter.  I  men- 
tion this  incident  to  account  to  myself  for  not  thinking  of  that 
letter  the  moment  I  woke.  In  fact  it  never  recurred  to  me  until 
I  was  at  breakfast. 

"Why  on  earth  that  Italian  woman  goes  on  firing  away  to  the 
Poet  I  can't  imagine."  But  I  didn't  open  the  letter,  and  as  there 
was  a  post-card  from  Lossie  saying  be  sure  to  come  to  dinner 
to-night,  because  Professor  Absalom  was  coming,  I  didn't  send 
it  back  with  explanations  as  I  might  have  done.  It  would  save 
me  writing  a  letter  if  I  took  it  with  me.  Besides  I  could  give 
it  to  Beppino  personally  if  he  was  there,  and  avoid  explanations. 
I  couldn't  explain  without  letting  out  about  the  Novel. 

"I  hope  you  found  your  letter,  Partner,"  said  Bony  to  me  at 
the  Works  that  morning. 

"What  letter?" 

"  Letter  from  an  Italian  lady — looked  as  if  Lady  Desprez  had 
directed  it  on.  She'd  put  the  wrong  number." 

"  That's  Jeannie,  I  know!  " 

"What's  Jeannie?" 

"Taking  all  that  notice!  You  never  saw  it  was  from  a  lady, 
Bony.  I  know  you  better  than  that !  " 


JOSEPH   VANCE  445 

"Well — you  got  the  letter,  anyhow."  I  had  got  the  letter,  and 
explained  that  it  wasn't  for  me,  but  Beppino.  I  threw  what  light 
I  could  on  the  misdirection,  giving  Beppino's  explanation  in  brief; 
but  dwelling  on  the  fact  that  I  had  seen  Beppino's  MS.  novel.  I 
saw  Bony  again  that  afternoon,  after  lunch.  I  myself  had  lunched 
in  the  city. 

"  I  say,  Joe,"  said  he.  "  Jeannie's  not  happy  in  her  mind  about 
that  Italian  girl.  What  Italian  girl?  Why,  the  Italian  girl  that 
writes  letters  to  little  Thorpe." 

"  I  think  it's  all  right.  You  see,  any  other  supposition  makes 
Bep  out  such  a  monstrous  liar.  Besides,  he  showed  me  the  MS. 
of  the  novel  with  a  blank  left  for  the  letter  to  come  in.  I  read 
the  passage.  '  With  a  cry  of  despair  Wilkinson  staggered  back 
to  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  The  letter  was  as  follows:'  And 
then  comes  the  space  he  was  going  to  write  it  into." 

"  Well — I  suppose  it's  all  right.  But  Jeannie  don't  think  so. 
What's  to  be  the  diameter  of  that  first  mover  at  Wainwright's  new 
shop — carries  twenty-five  h.p. — a  hundred  and  sixty  revs " 

"Make  it  a  sixteenth  too  much.  But,  I  say,  Bony  dear— 
please  ask  Jeannie  to  say  nothing  about  the  Novel — he  wants  it 
to  be  a  great  surprise.  It's  an  Otto-Crossley,  isn't  it?"  And  we 
plunged  into  engineer's  details,  and  forgot  the  letter. 

I  went  to  dinner,  in  response  to  Lossie's  invitation,  early  enough 
to  have  a  game  with  the  children  and  give  a  clockwork  bear  to  the 
Turk.  She  did  not  show  the  prowess  of  her  race,  for  when  the  bear 
was  wound  up  and  ran  about  in  search  of  prey  she  wept.  However, 
she  became  reconciled  in  the  end,  and  took  the  bear  to  bed  with 
her. 

"You  are  so  good  with  the  children,  Joe,"  said  Lossie,  when 
I  came  down  at  six-thirty  o'clock  very  much  towzled  and  well 
splashed,  for  we  had  finished  up  with  a  bathing  scene.  The  bear 
was  not  allowed  in  the  bath,  but  was  put  on  the  shelf,  too  high 
for  us  to  reach  till  we  were  quite  dry  and  had  said  our  prayers. 
We  said  them  too  quick  in  consequence. 

As  I  descended  to  rejoin  Lossie  I  saw  Beppino  coming  up  the 
long  flight  of  steps  to  the  street  door.  He  let  himself  in  with 
his  latch-key,  and  was  going  straight  upstairs  when  I  ran 
out  and  intercepted  him.  He  was  in  an  awful  hurry — had 
to  be  at  Park  Lane  by  eight — was  it  anything  particular? 
No — it  wasn't,  it  was  only  a  letter  from  his  Florentine  corre- 
spondent, Annunciatina  what's-her-name.  Catch  hold!  And  he 
caught  hold  and  went  upstairs.  But  I  thought  the  way  in  which 
he  said,  "Ha — who — ho!  Whose  handwriting's  that — Lossie's?" 


'446  JOSEPH   VANCE 

had  a  sound  of  misgiving.  I  ascribed  it  to  a  fear  that  she  might 
prosecute  enquiry,  and  find  out  about  the  precious  Novel.  So  I 
resolved  to  say  nothing  to  her.  She  asked  no  questions  about  why 
I  wanted  to  catch  Beppino,  and  indeed  we  had  no  further  con- 
versation, for  the  sound  of  a  Turk  howling  was  heard,  and  she 
rushed  upstairs  to  the  rescue.  I  heard  after  that  the  bear  had 
tumbled  out  of  the  Turk's  bed,  and  she  had  awakened  and  found 
herself  alone,  like  Psyche. 

After  a  very  pleasant  evening  I  started  for  home  with  Professor 
Absalom.  But  as  another  storm  was  threatening  I  said  good-bye 
to  him  and  walked  home  quickly.  As  I  crossed  over  the  old  bridge 
the  first  big  warm  drops  of  the  coming  torrent  were  spotting  the 
pavement  and  drying  up  rapidly.  They  would  not,  soon.  On 
arriving  at  Bony's  house  I  saw  a  light  in  his  smoking-room  win- 
dow and  was  just  thinking  should  I  go  in,  when  I  heard  Jeannie's 
voice  calling  out  "  Corner  house."  The  cab,  which  had  overshot 
its  mark,  had  first  to  be  convinced,  then  to  surrender  the  point 
reluctantly,  then  to  turn  round  deliberately  and  come  back.  "  Just 
come  from  Circus-Road,"  said  she,  as  I  helped  her  out.  "  I  shall 
catch  it  from  Bobby  for  being  so  late.  Yes — I  know  half-a-crown's 
enough.  Never  mind."  The  hansom  evidently  preferred  the  three 
shillings.  Jeannie  turned  round  to  me  instead  of  making  straight 
for  the  door.  "That's  perfectly  ridiculous  about  Wilkinson," 
said  she. 

"What's  ridiculous?" 

"  About  Wilkinson  and  the  precipice.  Who  ever  reads  letters  on 
the  edge  of  precipices  ? " 

I  felt  I  hadn't  a  strong  case  to  meet  the  question  flashed  at 
me  by  such  a  beautiful  face  under  a  gas-lamp  in  the  street  with 
a  big  storm  pending.  So  I  reserved  my  defence  until  Bony  opened 
the  door.  "Ho — raining  ?"  said  he.  " You'd  better  run,  Joe.  It's 
going  to  be  a  deluge."  But  Jeannie  was  not  going  to  have  her 
point  spoiled.  "  You  agreed,  Bobby,  you  know !  " 

"Agreed  about  what?" 

"  About  Wilkinson  and  the  precipice." 

"  Come  along  in — don't  stand  outside.  Who's  Wilkinson  ?  Oh — 
I  know!  Yes,  it  was  rum." 

"  But  it  was  all  written  in  with  the  rest  of  the  manuscript," 
I  said.  "And  a  blank  left  for  the  letter  to  come  in.  And  he 
spoke  to  me  about  it  of  his  own  accord — almost  immediately " 

"  How  immediately  was  it  ? " 

"Oh— next  day— the  day  after " 

"  Time  enough  to  write  a  few  words  in.    I  don't  believe  a  word 


JOSEPH  VANCE  447 

of  it,  Mr.  Vance."  She  always  called  me  Mr.  Vance,  and  I  called 
her  Mrs.  Mac,  for  short.  We  had  never  Jeannie'd  and  Joe'd,  but 
I  don't  exactly  know  why. 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Mac,"  I  exclaimed,  indignantly,  "  you  are 
making  Beppino  out  such  an  awful  character ! " 

"  When  it's  women,  some  men  are ! "  quoth  Jeannie,  enigmat- 
ically, but  none  the  less  clearly. 

"  Here's  the  rain,  Joe — cut  along !  Good-night !  "  Thus  Bony ; 
and  I  called  out  good-night,  and  ran  for  it.  And  as  I  closed  my 
own  street  door  and  shut  the  deluge  out,  I  repeated  to  myself  that 
when  it  was  women  some  men  were.  I  could  not  help  seeing 
that  in  this  case  it  probably  was  women,  and  possibly  Beppino 
was.  However,  I  took  the  next  opportunity  of  impressing  on 
Jeannie  that  I  wished  her  to  say  nothing  to  Lossie  of  the  Novel, 
about  which,  by  the  way,  my  incredulity  grew  greater  the  more  I 
thought  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XLVIH 

BEPPINO'S  ILLNESS.  LOSSIE  STARTS  FOR  AVIGNON.  A  DISTINGUISHED 
AUTHOR'S  FUNERAL.  JOE  MEETS  NEWS  OF  YET  ANOTHER  DEATH  ON 
HIS  RETURN  TO  CHELSEA.  HE  HAS  THROWN  AWAY  GOOD  GRIEF  ON 
BEPPINO.  WHY  DID  BEPPINO  WANT  HIS  CHILD  CALLED  CRISTOFORO  ? 

BEPPINO  and  his  wife  left  for  Avignon  a  day  or  two  after  the 
wedding.  They  did  not,  however,  go  straight  there,  because  of 
the  heat.  I  forget  where  they  spent  the  six  weeks  or  so  before 
they  got  there.  They  then  took  so  to  the  place  that  they  wrote 
they  might  very  likely  remain  till  Christmas.  They  were  quite 
at  liberty  to  do  what  they  liked  and  to  go  where  they  pleased. 
No  young  couple  could  have  had  less  reason  to  anticipate  a  cloud 
in  the  clear  horizon  of  their  happiness.  Youth,  health,  wealth, 
beauty,  and  fame — at  any  rate,  as  far  as  their  own  estimate  went 
— what  could  be  asked  for  more?  But  all  these  were  as  noth- 
ing; and  the  little  cloud  that  was  to  blacken  the  whole  vault 
of  their  heaven  was  there,  invisible  and  confident. 

Would  it  have  been  so,  I  wonder,  if  they  had  gone  elsewhere? 
Possibly.  Also,  possibly,  the  blow  might  have  come  a  few  weeks 
earlier,  and  poor  Sibyl's  widowhood  might  have  been  unalleviated 
by  what  I  think  turned  out  in  her  case  a  substantial  happiness. 
I  know  there  are  those  who  say  that  it  is  better  that  no  memorial 
should  remain  of  such  a  calamity  as  hers;  that  oblivion  should 
be  encouraged  to  the  utmost,  and  the  young  survivor  left  to  build 
up  a  new  life  on  the  ruins  of  the  past.  I  thought  hers  the  more 
fortunate  lot  of  the  two.  Her  baby — a  son — was  born  about  eight 
months  after  his  father's  death.  Lossie  was  with  her  more  or 
less  throughout — from  the  moment  when  she  started  for  Avignon 
on  receiving  the  news  of  her  brother's  illness  to  the  time  after 
the  baby's  birth,  when  its  mother,  terrified  at  first,  had  passed 
through  a  stage  of  reconciliation,  to  one  of  rapture.  And  she — 
I  mean  Lossie — thought  with  me  that  the  child  would  be  a  gain 
to  Sibyl  in  the  present,  and  no  obstacle  to  another  marriage  later. 
We  were  right. 

How  much  do  I  really  recollect  of  his  illness?  Not  overmuch. 
I  can  remember  in  their  honeymoon — or  rather  moons — many  let- 

448 


JOSEPH  VANCE  440 

ters  coming  to  Lossie  from  Sibyl,  who  had  attached  herself  almost 
passionately  to  her — the  only  case,  by-the-bye,  I  ever  knew  of  an 
attraction  between  sisters-in-law.  As  I  was  often  at  Poplar  Villa 
in  the  evening,  I  heard  more  than  one  of  those  letters — or  chop- 
pings  from  them — read  aloud  by  Lossie.  One  evening  when  the 
general  had  been  detained  (I  think  it  was  to  investigate  the  mis- 
conduct of  some  young  officers  who  had  put  an  unpopular  ensign  in 
a  sack)  a  letter  came  from  Sibyl  to  Lossie.  She  read  it  out  to 
me  and  Nolly  and  his  wife,  who  were  also  there,  in  the  merci- 
lessly unintelligible  way  people  have  of  reading  letters;  only 
giving  just  as  much  as  they  choose,  but  gloating  over  the  con- 
cealed intervals.  I  noticed  on  the  letter-back  as  she  held  it  up 
that  there  was  a  postscript,  rough  written,  but  augured  nothing 
from  it.  When  she  came  to  it,  the  cheerful  voice  that  had  been 
reading  an  account  of  a  delightful  expedition  to  Vaucluse  ended 
abruptly,  and  was  followed  by  a  short  "Oh  dear"  and  attentive 
reading  in  silence.  "  Beppino  ill,"  she  said.  And  then,  after  a 
moment  more  reading :  "  Oh  dear — typhoid ! — oh  no,  not  typhoid. 
But  what  will  poor  Sibyl  do,  all  alone  ? " 

"Let's  have  a  look,"  said  Nolly,  going  across  and  taking  the 
letter  from  her.  And  then  as  he  read  the  postscript  Lossie  said, 
"I  shall  go  straight  off  to  them  at  once — there's  a  continental 
Bradshaw  in  the  house,"  and  rang  the  bell  for  the  servant.  "  Oh 
no,"  said  Nolly,  handing  me  the  letter,  "  he'll  be  all  right !  You 
mustn't  think  of  going,  Lossie!  It  would  be  too  absurd."  And 
I  read  it  too,  and  joined  chorus  to  the  same  effect.  Lossie  re- 
flected for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  said: 

"  Nolly  and  Joe — you're  all  wrong.  I'm  going,  that's  flat.  You'll 
keep  your  eye  on  the  children,  Joe,  when  Hugh's  away.  There 
he  is — now  see  what  he  says !  "  And  the  General  followed  up  the 
click  of  his  latch-key,  and  was  made  acquainted  with  facts  and 
given  the  postscript  to  read.  He  looked  it  through  and  then  read 
aloud : 

"  { Dr.  Crozat  won't  give  an  opinion  about  what  it  is — hopes  not 
typhoid — temperature  four  degrees  above  normal.'  Well,  I  should 
say  we  needn't  get  in  a  fright  about  that — at  least  not  until  it's 
certain  it  is  typhoid.  Typhoid  takes  its  time.  No,  Loss — you 
mustn't  think  of  rushing  away  on  the  strength  of  this.  Wait 
a  day  or  two !  " 

"My  dear — if  I  don't  go  I  shall  be  miserable — think  of  that 
inexperienced  girl  all  by  herself.  It's  only  a  two  days'  journey. 
And  think  what  a  lot  of  typhoid  I  saw  that  time  at  Hyderabad " 

"  But,  Lossie  dear,  he'll  be  nursed  all  right.    French  doctors  are 


450  JOSEPH  VANCE 

no  fools.  And  why  should  you  go?  Let  Joe — he'll  go — won't 
you,  Joe?" 

"In  an  hour — catch  the  night  boat  at  Dover,  and  go  straight 
through."  I  jumped  at  it. 

"  Now,  Hughie  darling,  are  you  in  your  senses  ?  It  isn't  only 
nursing  that's  wanted.  It's  poor  Sibyl,  and  keeping  her  spirits 
up,  and  forcing  her  to  go  to  bed  and  rest,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  Joe's  a  dear  boy,  but  is  he  the  proper  person  ? "  We  were 
obliged  to  consider  this  view,  at  least. 

"Then  Joe  must  go  with  you,"  said  the  General.  But  Lossie 
trampled  on  this  suggestion  so  vigorously  that  we  had  to  surrender. 
"Yes — I  rang,"  said  Lossie  to  the  servant.  "Look  in  the  Gen- 
eral's dressing-room  and  bring  down  the  great  thick  red  book — 
you'll  see  it  somewhere  there."  And  when  the  continental  Brad- 
shaw  arrived  it  was  arranged  that  Lossie,  accompanied  by  Desiree, 
her  French  maid,  should  start  early  next  morning  for  Avignon. 
And  as  the  shops  wouldn't  be  opened  so  early,  Nolly  and  I  went 
out  to  purchase  all  the  Brand's  beef-essence  we  could  requisition 
from  the  neighbouring  chemists.  Nolly  was  incredulous,  and 
thought  it  all  a  fuss  about  nothing.  "  Sibyl's  been  sticking  a  little 
glass  thing  they've  got  in  his  mouth,"  said  he.  "  He'll  be  all  right 
in  a  day  or  two — you  see  if  he  isn't." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  I — "  but  I  wish  Lossie  would  have  let 
me  go  and  stayed."  I  didn't,  afterwards;  and  as  it  turned  out, 
neither  of  us  went  the  next  morning.  For  when  Nolly  and  I 
returned,  laden  with  Brand's  Essence,  there  was  the  General  at 
the  street  door  in  an  embroidered  dressing-gown  Lossie  had  made 
him,  smoking  in  the  moonlight.  "  Come  along  in,  boys,"  said 
he.  "Loss  certainly  mustn't  go  to-morrow,  nor  perhaps  at  all. 
I've  seen  a  lot  of  typhoid.  That  time  Lossie  spoke  of  we  had  half  a 
regiment  down.  And  we  never  knew  for  a  week  and  more  whether 
it  was  typhoid  or  not."  And  we  went  in  and  smoked,  and  the 
General  told  us  consolatory  stories  of  superhuman  rallies  against 
this  disorder,  which  did  credit  to  the  vitality  of  the  English  Army. 

But  for  all  that,  in  a  very  few  days  typhoid  was  confirmed — 
very  serious  case,  and  so  forth.  Nothing  could  keep  Lossie  back, 
and  the  Brand's  Essence  was  travelled  on  after  all.  For  at  that 
time  food  was  not  what  it  is  now,  for  the  railway  traveller,  in 
France  or  elsewhere. 

Then  followed  three  weeks  of  bulletins — either  letters  or  tele- 
grams. It  was  all  the  usual  thing — the  ups  and  downs — the  strug- 
gle of  nature  against  fever — the  not  uncommon  "pronounced  out 
of  danger  "  and  the  inevitable  end.  Less  than  four  months  after 


JOSEPH  VANCE  451 

the  young  couple  had  started,  full  of  life  and  hope,  Lossie  came 
back  into  an  early  November  fog  to  tell  us  that  she  had  left 
poor  Sibyl  in  charge  of  her  mother  at  the  house  in  Park  Lane. 
None  of  us  (either  of  her  family  or  her  husband's)  had  travelled 
out,  both  Sibyl  and  Lossie  begging  most  earnestly  that  it  should 
be  so.  Lossie  even  stipulated  that  no  one  should  meet  them  at 
the  station,  wishing  to  get  her  charge  back  to  her  own  home  be- 
fore she  saw  any  one. 

The  funeral  was  in  England;  the  body  being  embalmed  and 
brought  over  at  Sibyl's  desire.  There  was  a  considerable  gath- 
ering at  the  grave,  showing  a  literary  appreciation  of  the  deceased 
quite  out  of  proportion  to  what  I  thought  the  value  of  his  works. 
But  I  was  glad  to  be  in  the  wrong,  as  I  saw  it  would  be 
distinctly  pleasant  both  to  his  poor  young  widow  and  Lossie 
to  hear  of  it  as  soon  as  the  first  period  of  grief  had  gone  by. 
Lossie  could  never  understand  my  coldness  about  Beppino's  achieve-* 
ments.  "  It's  all  nonsense,  Joe,"  she  would  say,  "  to  tell  me  you're 
an  Engineer,  and  engineers  can't  appreciate  poetry."  And  another 
time  when  she  had  been  at  a  soiree  of  the  Royal  Society  with 
her  husband:  "What  do  you  think  old  Dean  Parr  Bentley  said 
about  you,  Joe?  Said  you  were  the  only  undergraduate  he  ever 
knew  that  could  appreciate  Pindar,  and  that  a  man  who  could 
take  in  Pindar  could  assimilate  everything  Greek!  There!  And 
then  you  say  you're  an  Engineer,  and  don't  understand  Poetry/7 
I  replied  that  undergraduates  were  born  of  a  low  order  of  intel- 
ligence, and  changed  the  subject.  For  I  was  always  afraid  of 
catechism  from  Lossie  as  to  why  I  was  callous  towards  Bep- 
pino.  She  was  not  surprised  at  Nolly,  who  was  his  brother  by  blood, 
so  it  was  natural!  Cain  would  have  had  a  low  opinion  of  any 
contributions  of  Abel's  to  the  daily  Press,  and  vice  versa.  This, 
however,  was  some  time  before  Beppino's  death.  Now  that  he  was 
gone  it  gave  me  pleasure  to  look  forward  to  repeating  to  Los- 
sie the  things  said  to  me  at  the  funeral  by  men  really  qualified 
to  form  a  judgment. 

I  went  straight  home  to  Chelsea  after  the  funeral,  knowing  I 
should  not  find  Lossie  at  Poplar  Villa.  Poor  Sibyl  clung  to 
her  and  could  hardly  bear  to  be  parted  from  her.  So  she  had 
promised  to  stay  with  her  all  that  day.  It  was  a  terrible  day 
of  driving  sleet  and  ready-made  snow  sludge,  thawing  underfoot 
as  it  fell;  a  day  to  be  remembered  even  by  those  who  had  not 
plodded  through  it  to  a  new-made  grave,  over  turf  that  combined 
all  the  worst  qualities  of  ice  and  poultice.  I  was  glad  of  the 
shelter  even  of  my  own  lonely  house.  Would  any  one,  I  wonder- 


452  JOSEPH   VANCE 

believe  me  if  I  told  them  the  thought  that  hovered  in  my  mind 
as  I  dwelt  sadly  on  the  poor  young  widow  in  her  loneliness?  It 
was  not  a  well-defined  thought — more  a  speculation  of  what  it 
would  have  been  had  I  thought  it.  It  would  have  been  very  like 

"she  has  only  lost  Beppino,  while  I "  I  refused  to  think  it, 

and  to  help  me  against  it  picked  up  the  letters  that  awaited  me 
and  took  them  up  to  Janey's  writing-table  to  read,  telling  Pips  to 
open  the  shutters  in  front  in  token  of  leave  to  survivors  to  for- 
get the  departed  if  so  disposed. 

What  on  earth  was  this  huge  black  border  I  had  to  light 
the  gas  to  see?  Who  can  be  writing  to  me  from  Florence  to 
tell  of  a  death?  For  that  is  the  only  meaning  of  a  border  as 
wide  as  one-third  of  the  envelope.  It  was  directed  to  the  Hlmo: 
Signore,  Signer  Giuseppe  Vance,  Cheyne  How,  Chelsea,  Inghil- 
terra,  written  legibly,  but  with  an  appearance  of  having  been 
copied  by  the  writer.  Did  you  ever  see  your  own  handwriting 
copied  by  another  person  ? — it  has  an  odd  familiarity  and  one  can- 
not guess  why — but  one  sees  there  is  something  wrong.  I  opened 
the  letter,  and  read: 

"  FIESOLE. 
"  GENTILISSIMO  SIGNOR  VANCE, 

"Mese  addietro  Le  scrissi  una  lettera,  indirizzandola  come  ha 
detto  Lei,  a  Ryder  and  Abbott,  Tichborne  Street  122,  London, 
Inghilterra*;  e  non  avendo  avuto  alcuna  risposta,  dubito  che  Ella 
non  si  trovi  piu  la,  o  forse  che  la  lettera  sia  andata  smarrita; 
pero  vengo  a  replicare  il  suo  contenuto. 

"  Devo  dare  con  animo  straziato  la  tristissima  notizia  della 
morte  della  mia  compianta  cugina,  che  spirava  serenamente  il  di 
16  Ottobre,  munita  dei  conforti  religiosi,  tre  settimane  dopo  la 
nascita  d'  un  maschio  bellissimo,  avendo  una  somiglianza  alia  Sua 
grata  persona,  tanto  che  siamo  rimasti  tutti  stupefatti.  Fino 
all'  agonia  ha  dato  speranze  il  Signer  Dottore:  ma  che  vuole? — 
Ogni  mezzo  e  stato  provato,  ed  ogni  rimedio:  inutile  tutto!  H 
bambino  sta  discretamente  di  salute;  e  speriamo  che  continui  a 
migliorare.  Anche  noi  siamo  discretamente  di  salute,  ma  tutti 
profondamente  commossi  per  la  perdita  della  nostra  carissima 
defunta. 

"  Tutti  partecipiamo  al  suo  immenso  dolore,  tanto  piu  che  Ella 
sia  stato  cosi  crudelmente  impedito  dal  ritornare  alia  sua  ama- 
tissima  moglie. 

"  Gradisca,  Signore,  il  rispettoso  saluto  della  sua  devotissima 
Faustina  Vespucci,  Via  della  Carrozza,  No.  13,  Ottobre  .  .  ,  74." 


JOSEPH  VANCE  453 

The  day  was  illegible  in  the  date — but  it  was  October  clear 
enough. 

Then  followed  a  postscript. 

"  Avendo  paura  che  anche  questa  non  giunga  a  Lei,  ho  pensato  di 
spedire  una  duplicazione  cosi,  indirizzandola  al  padrone  dell'  Al- 
bergo  di  Milano  di  cui  rammento  il  nome  sulla  sua  valigia, 
sperando  che  per  caso  lui  avrebbe  altro  indirizzo. 

"La  ringrazio  ancora  per  il  denaro.  Come  ho  gia  scritto  e 
arrivato  in  buon  tempo,  ma  per  far  tutto  in  ordine  e  riguardevol- 
mente  le  spese  montano  su,  e  siamo  stati  costretti  a  ricorrere  al 
buon  cuore  del  Padre  facendoci  imprestare  la  somma  di  duegento 
lire,  ma  siamo  sempre  per  via  di  servircene  col  risparmio."  * 

Along  a  blank  margin  was  written  "  Al  desiderio  della  Signora, 
f u  battezzato  il  bambino  Cristoforo  Vance.  Diceva  anche  il  Signore 
lo  voleva  cosi."  I  did  not  make  this  out  in  my  first  reading. 

I  don't  think  I  ever  had  a  more  horrible  sensation  in  my  life 
than  the  clash  between  the  softened  feelings  about  Beppino  that 
I  had  brought  from  his  grave,  and  the  shock  this  letter  gave  me. 
Not  that  I  realized  its  contents  properly  at  first.  I  only  saw  that 
there  had  been  some  foul  play,  and  that  it  was  connected  with 
the  former  letter  addressed  to  me,  and  meant  for  Beppino.  Jean- 
nie  Macallister's  rapid  insight  into  an  aspect  of  the  last  letter 
which  I  had  missed  had  shaken  my  faith  in  Beppino's  explana- 

*  [A  month  ago  I  wrote  you  a  letter  directed  as  you  told  me  to  Ryder  and  Abbott, 
Tichborne  St.,  and  having  had  no  answer,  I  am  in  doubt  if  you  are  still  there,  or  perhaps 
the  letter  may  have  got  lost.  I  therefore  write  this  to  repeat  its  contents. 

I  have  to  give  you  with  acute  grief  the  most  sad  announcement  of  the  death  of  my  be- 
loved cousin,  who  breathed  her  last  tranquilly  on  Oct.  16,  fortified  by  the  consolations  of 
religion,  three  weeks  after  the  birth  of  a  most  beautiful  boy,  so  closely  resembling  your, 
self  as  to  astonish  all  of  us.  The  Doctor  held  out  hopes  up  to  the  last  moment,  but  what 
would  yon  '—every  means  had  been  tried  and  every  remedy— all  in  vain  !  The  child  is 
going  on  well  and  we  hope  will  continue  to  improve.  For  ourselves  we  are  well  enough 
as  to  health,  but  in  the  deepest  grief  for  the  loss  of  our  most  beloved  departed. 

We  all  join  in  sympathy  for  your  heavy  loss,  all  the  heavier  that  you  have  been  so 
cruelly  prevented  from  returning  to  your  beloved  wife. 

Accept,  Signore,  the  respectful  salutations  of  your  most  devoted,  etc. 

P.  S.  Being  afraid  this  also  may  fail  to  reach  you,  I  have  thought  best  to  send  it  in 
duplicate,  directing  to  the  padrone  of  the  Hotel  at  Alilan,  the  name  of  whom  I  recollect  on 
your  luggage,  in  the  hope  that  he  will  have  another  address. 

Thank  you  again  for  the  money.  As  I  have  already  written,  it  arrived  in  good  time, 
but  to  do  all  in  order  and  with  due  respect  the  expenses  have  run  up,  and  I  have  been 
obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  kindness  of  the  Padre,  and  get  him  to  lend  me  two  hun- 
dred francs.  But  we  have  always  been  as  economical  as  possible. 

At  the  wish  of  the  Signora  the  baby  was  christened  Cristoforo  Vancd.  She  said  the 
Signore  had  wished  this  also.] 


454  JOSEPH   VANCE 

tion,  and  in  my  own  judgment.  But  I  had  forgotten  this  in 
the  incident  of  the  funeral.  I  remembered  it  now,  and  I  simply 
felt  sick  to  think  what  it  was  that  was  on  the  edge  of  elucida- 
tion. I  saw  the  sort  of  thing,  not  the  details. 

I  got  at  them  gradually.  First  it  was  clear  that  this  letter 
had  been  forwarded  by  the  hall-porter  at  the  Milan  Hotel,  where 
my  address,  written  by  myself,  had  evidently  been  kept;  also  that 
a  correspondence  had  been  going  on  with  Beppino  at  Poplar  Villa, 
and  that  the  last  Italian  letter  had  reached  him  a  month  nearly 
before  this  one  was  posted.  How  long  had  this  one  been  coming? 
About  ten  days  from  date  of  writing — the  postmarks  were,  like  post- 
marks, illegible.  Then  forty  days  ago  this  poor  lady,  whoever  or 
whatever  she  was — for  really  I  hardly  dared  to  think  of  that  part 
of  the  matter — had  been  lying  dead  at  Fiesole,  and  Beppino  had 
either  forgotten  all  about  her  in  his  honeymoon  raptures,  or  let- 
ters had  miscarried.  Probably  the  latter.  One  thing  was  clear, 
pending  explanation,  that  there  was  a  seven-weeks-old  baby  in 
charge  of  some  not  very  near  relation — that  was  plain  from  the 
"  rispettoso  saluto  " — and  that  there  was  a  want  of  money.  I  must 
ease  my  mind  about  that  baby,  even  at  the  cost  of  a  little  risk. 
I  immediately  wrote  a  letter  to  Faustina  Vespucci,  saying  that  I 
was  not  the  person  for  whom  the  letter  was  intended,  but  that  I 
believed  I  knew  who  was  meant,  and  would  take  upon  myself  to 
forward  a  little  danaro,  as  I  felt  certain  I  should  be  repaid.  I 
wrote  a  cheque  for  twenty  pounds,  and  when  I  had  enveloped  it 
and  directed  it  felt  as  if  I  had  really  been  of  some  use.  It  was 
too  late  for  the  foreign  post  now — but  it  might  as  well  be  posted. 
I  should  feel  as  if  the  poor  people  had  got  twenty  pounds.  I  would 
post  it  as  I  went  to  tea  at  Bony's,  at  the  baker's  at  the  corner  of 
Danvers  Street.  Meanwhile  I  should  have  time  to  think  more 
over  this  letter. 

A  person  may  be  moderately  familiar  with  Italian  and  yet  may 
easily  make  mistakes  in  a  first  perusal  of  a  letter.  The  practice 
of  addressing  people  as  she  is  one  that  requires  time  to  become 
acceptable  to  an  Englishman.  The  first  impression  I  had  was 
that  Beppino  had  been  making  love  to  some  married  lady  and 
that  she  was  intended  by  some  at  least  of  the  ella's  and  lei's  that 
puzzled  me.  She  had  had  a  male  baby,  and  it  had  a  startling 
likeness  to  her  grata  persona — was  very  like  its  mother,  in  fact. 
But  stop  a  bit.  That  wouldn't  do!  Why  on  earth  should  Bep- 
pino be  sending  money  out  to — yes!  evidently  to  some  nurse,  or 
housekeeper,  or  perhaps  well-disposed  friends — on  account  of  either 
this  baby  or  its  mother?  Then  how  about  his  being  so  cruelly 


JOSEPH  VANCE  455 

prevented  from  returning  to  his  beloved  wife?  I  had  read  it 
wrong,  and  must  go  through  it  more  carefully. 

Slowly — slowly — it  dawned  upon  me.  Beppino  was  actually 
married  to  this  Italian  girl — or  at  least  she  believed  him  her 
husband — at  the  very  time  when  he  was  arranging  his  marriage 
with  Sibyl  Fuller  Perceval  in  England.  And  this  ill-starred  little 
maschio  was  near  his  entry  on  the  scene  when  his  father  was 
uttering  his  new  lies  to  a  fresh  victim.  For  if  the  first  was  his 
victim  by  reason  of  his  desertion,  the  second  was  even  more  so 
in  view  of  his  deliberate  mendacity. 

Had  I  known  then  what  I  have  since  learned  about  Italian 
marriage-law,  I  should  have  understood  that  no  bigamy  was  neces- 
sarily involved  in  Beppino's  action.  I  should  have  known  what 
admirable  facilities  it  gives  to  enterprise  of  this  sort,  and  how 
the  Church-service  of  espousal  is  a  mere  farce  unless  there  is 
also  a  secular  one;  and  that  possibly  Beppino  was  only  half  as 
bad  as  he  seemed,  having  played  the  part  of  an  incarnate  devil 
to  one  girl  only  instead  of  two.  For  even  if  the  maudlin  iniquities 
of  the  laws  Men  make,  and  Women  have  no  voice  in,  had  backed 
him  up  in  his  treachery  to  this  Italian,  the  knowledge  that  she 
was  tied  to  an  unclean  creature  would  have  broken  (most  likely) 
the  heart  that  had  the  precious  legal  right  to  call  him  husband. 
But  at  that  time  I  knew  nothing  of  this  achievement  of  Themis, 
and  took  for  granted  that  the  girl  was  really  his  wife  accord- 
ing to  Italian  Law. 

There  was  another  thing  I  took  for  granted,  and  it  never  crossed 
my  mind  to  question  it  until  I  had  quite  exhausted  conjecture  as 
to  how  the  little  miscreant  had  contrived  to  maintain  his  pretexts 
about  his  delayed  return  to  his  wife.  On  that  point  I  was  des- 
tined to  remain  in  the  dark.  The  thing  I  swallowed  whole  with- 
out protest  was  the  use  of  my  own  name,  and  its  bestowal  on 
the  lady.  I  conceived  of  it  simply  as  part  of  the  accident  of  the 
ascription  of  my  name  to  Beppino  and  his  original  acquiescence 
in  it  as  a  kind  of  joke.  Such  a  misconception  might  go  great 
lengths  in  Tuscany;  the  natives  regarding  forestieri  as  quite  irre- 
sponsible, and  very  likely  wrong  about  their  own  names;  while  the 
latter  would  consider  them  in  return  fascinating  and  clever,  but 
children  for  all  that!  I  suppose  if  I  had  been  less  tired  with 
the  funeral,  and  shocked  with  the  main  fact  of  the  letter,  I 
should  have  seen  the  whole  bearing  of  the  case  better.  As  it 
was  I  would  go  and  get  Jeannie  to  give  me  tea,  and  say  noth- 
ing to  any  one  about  it  till  I  had  had  time  to  collect  myself. 
I  didn't  even  post  the  twenty  pounds  as  I  had  intended,  stop- 


456  JOSEPH  VANCE 

ping  short  just  as  I  was  letter-boxing  it.  It  would  go  just  as 
soon  posted  to-morrow. 

I  was  really  glad  to  forget  the  whole  thing;  although  I  knew  I 
was  doing  so  artificially,  and  that  I  should  have  to  let  it  come  back. 
I  was  much  helped  by  hearing  a  storm  of  babies  rush  into  the 
passage  in  response  to  my  knock,  and  say  it  knew  it  was  mine. 
Jeannie  had  five  of  these  articles,  and  it  was  great  joy  to  carry 
the  two  smallest  and  be  propelled  by  Archie  Stephenson  and  Flix 
into  light  and  warmth  and  chatter  of  many  tongues  and  Jeannie 
looking  splendid,  and  any  amount  of  tea  preparations. 

"Oh  dear!"  said  she,  "I've  been  thinking  of  you  all  day. 
Such  an  awful  day.  Flixie  and  Posset,  my  dears,  your  uncle 
Joe's  tired  and  you  must  let  him  off  easy."  I  encouraged  these 
two  to  pay  no  attention  to  their  mother,  and  they  made  no 
concession.  But  a  call  came  in  connection  with  tea  supplies 
which  I  was  glad  of.  Parenthetically,  Jeannie's  soft  silvery 
Scotch  accent  was  always  there,  though  I  can't  spell  it.  If 
you  like  to  spell  "dears"  with  a  u  and  sound  the  r,  I  see  no 
objection. 

Madame  Schmidt,  my  old  pianist  friend,  was  there.  She  had 
got  a  foothold  in  Bony's  family  as  an  instructor  not  only  in 
music,  but  in  the  other  arts,  and  Science  and  Literature,  and 
so  forth.  I  knew  a  man  once  who  undertook  to  teach  Sanskrit, 
of  which  he  knew  nothing.  "  I  learned,"  said  he,  "  as  much  be- 
fore breakfast  as  I  could  teach  between  ten  and  twelve.  And 
I  allowed  no  questions  to  be  asked."  I  believe  the  Frau  did  ex- 
actly the  same  with  the  little  Macallisters.  I  was  glad  to  see 
her,  for  her  presence  (as  the  Press  would  say  nowadays)  spelt  Bee- 
thoven. However,  the  spelling  was  not  going  to  become  speech 
on  a  piano  she  could  only  play  for  the  children  on.  We  must 
go  round  to  my  house  if  there  was  to  be  any  Beethoven :  the  Frau 
was  inflexible.  So  I  sent  instructions  to  Pips  to  have  coffee  ready, 
and  I  stayed  on  to  dinner,  and  we  all  went  round  to  my  house 
directly  after,  "  indigestically,  but  never  mind ! "  said  Jeannie. 
And  then  we  had  coffee,  and  simply  wallowed  in  the  Pathetique 
and  the  Moonlight  and  the  Waldstein,  and  I  had  my  special  move- 
ment twice  over. 

I  had  need  of  it,  so  horrible  was  the  memory  I  had  to 
slip  back  to.  I  said  good-night  to  Jeannie  and  Bony  and  Frau 
Schmidt,  with  the  phrases  of  the  Waldstein  still  ringing  triumph- 
antly through  every  fibre  of  my  senses.  We  had  spoken  less,  and 
less  freely,  of  the  departed  than  we  should  have  done  had  the  letter 
incident  not  occurred.  Had  there  been  no  Wilkinson  and  no  preci- 


JOSEPH  VANCE  457 

pice,  Jeannie  would  have  been  almost  sure  to  join  in  the  con- 
versation more  easily,  whatever  she  really  thought.  As  it  was, 
she  spoke  very  little  of  the  funeral,  and  in  response  to  my  good- 
night only  bade  me,  "  Good-night,  Mr.  Vance,  and  now  do  go  and 
have  a  real  good  night's  rest,  for  you  look  half -dead."  Her  hus- 
band had  referred  to  the  funeral. 

However,  as  old  Anne  at  Poplar  Villa  used  to  say,  "  Half -dead 
never  filled  the  churchyard."  It  (or  he)  did  not  even  send  me 
off  into  a  sound  sleep.  For  just  as  I  was  going  off,  I  was  dragged 
awake  again  by  a  thought.  How,  if  Beppino  had  actually  availed 
himself  of  the  name-confusion  to  betray  this  girl,  and  lure  her 
into  a  marriage  which  he  could  disclaim. 

As  soon  as  I  was  fully  awake,  I  saw  he  could  not  have  done 
this,  unless  indeed  Italian  and  English  wedding-law  were  dif- 
ferent. But  it  made  me  very  feverish  and  uncomfortable,  and  I 
was  very  sorry  for  myself  for  not  having  got  to  sleep  that  time. 
Never  mind,  I  would  try  again.  And  I  had  just  got  comfort- 
ably settled,  with  the  clothes  tucked  round  behind,  and  the  pil- 
low pulled  a  little  down,  when  a  new  disturbing  idea  came.  What 
was  the  name  the  child  had  been  called?  I  had  not  read  it  very 
clearly.  I  dismantled  all  my  comfort  without  remorse,  and,  jump- 
ing up,  lit  the  candle  beside  my  bed.  I  got  the  letter  from  my 
pocket  as  quick  as  I  could,  and  got  back  to  bed  again  and  read 
it  over. 

Where  was  it?  Here  along  the  blank  margin  of  the  first  page: 
"  Fu  battezzato  Cristoforo  Vance — anche  il  Signore  lo  voleva  cosi." 
Now  what  did  that  mean? 

Christopher  Vance — my  Father's  name!  Why,  if  I  had  had  a 
boy  myself,  that  is  what  I  should  have  called  him.  Was  it  con- 
ceivable that — but  perhaps  I  was  feverish.  I  would  put  the  let- 
ter away  till  to-morrow.  I  turned  in  again,  and  this  time  I  went 
to  sleep,  and  slept  soundly. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

JOE  SUBSIDIZES  CRISTOFORO.  HOW  HE  TOOK  GENERAL  DESPREZ  INTO 
HIS  CONFIDENCE.  THE  BRAZILIAN  SCHEME.  ANOTHER  FLORENTINE 
LETTER.  HOW  JOE  RESOLVED  TO  GO  OUT  AND  SEE  THAT  CRISTOFORO 
WAS  PROPERLY  NOURISHED. 

To  GO  through  all  the  ups  and  downs  this  Italian  letter  caused 
me  would  be  to  record  the  vacillations  of  three  weeks.  I  did 
not  at  first  see  my  way  tc  taking  any  one  into  my  confidence. 
Nor  did  I  post  my  cheque  next  day,  as  I  had  intended.  But 
I  sent  the  money  out  in  bank  notes  with  a  letter  which  I  dic- 
tated to  one  of  my  clerks  at  the  works,  filling  in  the  Italian 
name  and  the  address  myself.  It  merely  said  twenty  pounds  was 
enclosed  and  please  acknowledge  to  Mr.  Vance.  Another  letter 
would  follow.  This  gave  me  time  to  think  it  over. 

As  soon  as  I  could  make  up  my  mind  what  had  actually  hap- 
pened, I  would  take  Hugh  Desprez  into  my  confidence.  I  can- 
not describe  the  power  he  had  of  inspiring  trust  in  himself.  I 
always  felt  and  thought  of  him  as  a  great  superior  strength,  and 
wondered  at  Lossie's  intrepidity  with  him  and  his  complete  acqui- 
escence in  her  influence.  She  once  said  to  me,  "  If  Hugh  were 
angry  with  me  I  think  I  should  die.  I  have  seen  him  angry, 
and  you  have  no  idea  what  it  was.  Some  of  the  men  had  ill- 
treated  a  native  woman — I  don't  like  to  think  of  it" — and  Lossie 
turned  pale,  and  I  changed  the  topic. 

The  question  (so  it  seemed  to  me)  that  I  had  to  answer  was: 
Secrecy,  or  no  secrecy?  I  wanted  secrecy,  but  I  could  not  be 
sure  it  was  right.  If  the  General  consented  to  secrecy,  it  could 
not  be  wrong!  Nothing  he  consented  to  could  be — it  was  a  fore- 
gone conclusion. 

At  the  end  of  the  three  weeks  of  vacillation  I  had  decided 
that  what  had  actually  happened  was  this:  After  leaving  me  at 
Milan,  Beppino  had  fallen  in  love — or  what  he  called  love — with 
an  Italian  girl,  and  finding  he  would  have  to  marry  her  or  give 
up  the  point,  had  chosen  the  former  alternative.  Whether  he 
believed  at  the  time  that  the  use  of  my  name  would  obtain 
the  support  of  Authority  for  his  treachery,  I  could  not  decide. 

458 


JOSEPH  VANCE  459 

I  was  not  even  sure  that  he  had  not  protested  against  its  use, 
and  thereby  created  a  suspicion  that  he  wished  to  substitute  a 
false  Thorpe  for  a  true  Vance.  He  may  even  have  intended  on 
his  return  to  England  to  allow  Sibyl  to  lapse  and  to  acknowledge 
the  Italian.  He  would  have  been  a  scurvy  beast  according  to  my 
high-flown  ideas  had  he  done  so;  but  not  so  bad,  as  the  world 
goes!  The  tendency  of  my  speculations  was  towards  excuse-mon- 
gering.  I  would  make  the  best  case  I  could  to  lay  before  the 
General.  As  for  his  use  of  my  name  as  a  wrong  to  myself,  I 
did  not  trouble  much.  What  could  it  matter?  What  could  any- 
thing matter  ?  And  suppose  he  had  tried  to  impute  an  Italian  baby 
to  me,  and  to  foster  the  idea  by  giving  it  my  Father's  name,  was 
it  a  thing  to  be  resented  by  a  man  who  (so  long  as  he  could 
account  to  himself  for  his  own  actions)  did  not  care  much  what 
folk  thought  about  him?  Did  I  not  remember  how  that  day  in 
the  Ticino  valley  I  longed  to  carry  off  Idomeneo  Pellegrini  from 
his  delicious  mud-pie,  and  appropriate  him,  and  how  I  even  felt 
sorry  to  wash  off  the  compact  little  hand-print  he  had  so  kindly 
impressed  on  my  forehead.  Oh  no!  It  was  no  wrong  to  be 
resented — a  scheme  to  make  me  the  possessor  of  an  Idomeneo 
without  crime  or  treachery  on  my  part.  For  anything  I  knew  this 
little  character,  at  present  half -mummified,  and  only  allowed  chrys- 
alis-exercise for  its  legs,  might  turn  out  as  succulent  at  three  as 
Idomeneo.  I  shut  my  eyes  and  endeavoured  to  picture  to  myself 
his  clenched  fists,  trying  to  clear  away  an  obstructive  universe;  his 
terrific  voice  insisting  on  a  bottle,  and  his  immediate  preoccupa- 
tion on  receiving  it.  No !  I  wasn't  going  to  be  very  angry  about 
that  part  of  the  business.  I  would  send  the  little  party  some  more 
cash  to  go  on  with  in  case  he  should  be  running  short. 

I  made  up  my  mind  then  that  I  would  speak  to  the  General 
as  soon  as  an  opportunity  offered.  We  always  smoked  in  the 
Library,  and  my  chance  came  one  evening  in  December,  when 
I  had  dined  alone  with  him  and  Lossie;  and  she,  being  tired, 
had  announced  that  she  should  go  to  bed  early.  So  we  deferred 
cigars  altogether  till  she  went,  and  then  adjourned  to  the  Library 
for  good.  After  we  had  smoked  a  little  I  spoke. 

"  I  say,  General,  I  want  to  put  a  case  to  you.  Suppose  a  pri- 
vate soldier  was  to  come  to  you  and  say  he  had  something  in 
his  mind — something  affecting  the  welfare  of  the  regiment — and 
say  he  couldn't  tell  it  unless  you  promised  secrecy — what  would 
you  say?" 

The  General  considered  for  a  few  seconds — a  very  few — and 
then  said: 


460  JOSEPH   VANCE 

"I  should  say  I  couldn't  make  a  promise  in  the  dark — he 
must  either  trust  me  in  full,  or  carry  his  information  elsewhere. 
I  would  promise  to  do  my  best  by  him  if  he  liked  to  confide 
in  me.  Only,  he  would  have  to  confide  outright ! " 

We  sat  puffing  out  clouds  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes.  Then 
he  looked  at  me,  and  said  interrogatively,  "  Terms  accepted,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Terms  accepted,"  I  replied.  "  You'll  have  to  listen  to  a  long 
story,  General."  And  I  told  him  straight  through  without  reserve 
the  whole  story  as  I  have  written  it.  I  also  told  him  what  I 
knew  of  Beppino's  previous  life — the  affair  of  Thornberry's  wife, 
and  also  I  am  sorry  to  say  of  one  or  two  analogous  events  that 
had  come  to  my  knowledge  which  I  have  not  recorded  here.  When 
I  had  ended,  the  General  remarked  that  he  was  not  a  very  good 
Italian  scholar,  but  he  might  as  well  see  the  letter.  I  handed 
it  to  him. 

"  Of  course  the  chief  thing  is  Lossie,"  said  he.  "  We  can't 
have  her  heart  broken  over  this.  Also  that  poor  little  widow- 
lady." 

"  Of  course,"  I  repeated  after  him,  "  the  chief  thing  is  Lossie." 
And  I  felt  that  he  had  thrown  in  poor  Sibyl  in  a  rather  per- 
functory way.  But  I  was  worse,  and  did  not  include  her  at  all. 
Neither  he  nor  I  then  knew  that  a  child  was  expected.  Had 
we  done  so  we  should  have  seen  at  once  how  it  would  complicate 
the  position.  Lossie  may  have  known;  but  it  was  early  days  to 
talk  of  such  matters,  and  nothing  had  reached  me  or  the  General. 
He  opened  the  letter,  and  translated  to  himself,  referring  to  me 
once  or  twice  for  an  interpretation. 

"What's  'vengo  a  replicare'?  I  come  to  reply? — oh,  I  see, 
duplicate  its  contents.  And  what's  '  siamo  rimasti  stupef  atti '  ? " 

"  They  have  remained  surprised.  That  is,  they  were  astonished 
at  the  likeness — the  somiglianza " 

"To  its  mother?" 

"  No — to  Beppino.    His  grata  persona  is  himself." 

"  The  bambino  stands  discreetly.  It's  too  young.  It  can't  stand 
at  all." 

"  It's  only  a  way  of  saying  it's  doing  very  well  on  the  whole." 

"I  suppose  the  poor  girl's  name  was  Gradisca?  Here  it  is 
— '  sua  amatissima  moglie  Gradisca.'  " 

"Oh  no!  It's  only  a  way  they  have  of  winding  up  a  letter. 
Heaven  only  knows  what  it  means !  " 

"  Why  can't  they  write  plain  English  ?  "  However,  the  General 
got  through  the  rest  of  the  letter,  and  even  admitted  that  hav- 
ing recourse  to  the  good  heart  of  the  Padre  was  not  a  bad  ex- 


JOSEPH   VANCE  461 

pression — for  foreigners.  In  spite  of  all  his  long  residence  in 
India,  he  had  a  John  Bull  citadel  in  his  innermost  heart. 

"  We  must  send  them  some  money,  Joe,"  said  he,  at  once  tak- 
ing the  same  point  as  myself  first.  "  But  most  likely  you've  done 
that  3 "  I  admitted  that  I  had,  and  added  that  possibly  I  had  sent 
more  than  was  wise. 

"  You  see,  General,"  I  said,  "  I  haven't  consulted  any  one,  and 
whenever  I  felt  anxious  about  that  baby  I  relieved  my  mind  by 
posting  Bank  of  England  notes  to  it.  It's  quite  a  little  Croesus 
by  now.  But  tell  me,  how  does  the  whole  thing  strike  you  ? " 

"  Well — I'm  too  old  to  be  surprised  at  anything  of  this  sort. 
I  never  remain  stupefied,  as  our  friend  says,  about  anything  with 
a  woman  in  it.  Besides,  I  took  Beppino's  measure  long  ago.  I 
never  knew  any  of  these  stories  you  have  told  me,  but  of  course 
I  could  give  him  his  class  after  all  the  young  officers  I  have  known. 
Lossie  thought  of  him  as  of  an  innocent  young  boy,  a  child.  She 
would  be  horribly  cut  up  if  she  knew  the  truth." 

"7  shan't  tell  her.  But  didn't  Bep  sometimes  strike  you  as 
being  like  a  child,  in  some  respects  ? " 

"Yes,  he  did.  But  then  the  first  thing  that  struck  me — 
when  I  saw  him  first — about  fourteen  he  was,  I  think — was  that 
his  intellect  was  so  much  older  than  himself.  Now  I  always 
thought  latterly  that  his  body  had  got  older  than  his  mind,  and 
run  away  with  him,  as  it  were.  However,  it's  no  use  speculat- 
ing. He  wasn't  good — we  must  leave  him  to  other  Judgment 
than  ours.  We  have  to  think  what's  to  be  done  now.  Let's  run 
through  the  letter  again — well,  look  here!  here  we  are  at  the  first 
go-off !  How  long  did  this  letter  take  to  reach  you  ?  I  can't  make 
out  the  date." 

"  Probably  a  week.     But  here's  the  envelope " 

"It's  no  good  looking  at  postmarks.  But  it  would  be  a  week, 
more  or  less.  And  the  writer  had  written  a  month  before.  And 
you  got  this  the  day  of  the  funeral.  The  letter  despatched  a 
month  before  the  funeral  may  be  still  lying  at  this  address  given 
in  the  letter.  Nothing  was  forwarded  to  Avignon  during  his 
illness." 

"  How  do  we  know  ?  He  may  have  told  them  to  direct  Poste 
Restante,  Avignon?"  And  we  went  on  discussing  the  numerous 
possibilities,  but  ended  by  deciding  that  it  would  be  just  as  well 
to  apply  at  Ryder  and  Abbott's  and  claim  any  letter  we  should  find. 

"  Should  we  be  justified  in  doing  so  ? "  said  I. 

"Legally  yes,  because  I  am  his  executor,"  replied  the  General 
I  had  forgotten  this  fact.  Beppino  had  made  a  will  at  Lossie's 


462  JOSEPH  VANCE 

instigation,  and  had  made  Hugh  sole  executor.  "  As  to  the  moral 
aspect  of  the  case,"  continued  he,  "  I  think  I  may  go  to  that  re- 
sponsibility." 

"  As  to  claiming  it,"  said  I.  "  But  how  about  reading  it  when 
we've  got  it?" 

"  Suppose  we  think  it  over,"  answered  he.  And  as  he  said  noth- 
ing more  on  this  point,  I  left  the  matter  alone,  and  we  talked, 
I  think,  of  a  raid  the  children  had  made  on  their  father's  photo- 
graphic chemicals — and  some  uncertainty  there  had  been  as  to 
whether  the  Turk  had  sampled  the  Cyanide. 

This  was  on  Thursday.  Next  day  I  dined  with  some  friends 
to  meet  some  men  who  had  a  big  work  in  hand  for  Brazil,  and 
were  good  enough  to  think  I  should  be  of  service  to  them.  The 
Saturday  evening  I  spent  as  usual  with  Mr.  Spencer  at  Hamp- 
stead.  I  can  remember  the  blank  that  came  over  his  poor  old 
face  when  I  told  him  about  the  Brazilian  mines,  and  the  rail- 
way that  was  to  i(  open  up  "  a  country  about  the  size  of  Austria. 
*'*  Joe ! — Joe !  "  said  he,  "  you'll  go  away  to  South  America  and 
we  shall  never  see  you  again."  I  answered,  "  Never  fear,  Padrone  " 
— but  felt  rather  hypocritical  about  it.  For  I  had  already  been 
thinking  to  myself  how  few  ties  I  should  have  if  Lossie  and 
her  husband  went  to  live  in  Italy,  as  they  often  talked  of  doing, 
and  Bony's  father,  who  was  ailing,  should  die  and  leave  him  heir 
to  his  estates  in  Perthshire.  Bony's  elder  brother,  Colonel  Macal- 
lister,  received  a  charge  of  shot  in  one  eye  at  a  shooting-party, 
at  the  age  of  thirty-five,  and  had  lost  a  life  that  seemed  to  enjoy 
deer-stalking  and  grouse-shooting,  billiards  and  picquet,  a  funny 
play  and  a  good  dinner,  impartially  and  equally,  without  any 
distinction.  He  was  a  great  loss  to  his  friends,  and  when  he 
died  a  bachelor  Bony  was  left  sole  heir  to  some  very  broad  acres. 
The  latter  liked  his  profession  well  enough,  but  a  big  factory 
in  London  had  no  attractions  that  would  compete  with  a  little 
kingdom  in  the  Perthshire  Highlands.  He  would  go,  and  then 
I  really  should  hardly  have  a  soul  of  the  old  lot  to  speak  to. 
There  would  be  Nolly,  certainly;  but  he  and  I  had  never  been 
close  enough  not  to  slip  asunder  and  yet  remain  the  best  of  friends 
whenever  we  met.  There  is  very  little  juice  in  reciprocity  of 
that  sort. 

So  when  my  father-in-law  said  to  me,  "  We  shall  never  see  you 
again,"  the  thought  that  crossed  my  mind  was  that  "I"  might 
have  done  as  well  as  "We."  He  would  be  the  only  human  tie 
with  any  strength  in  it  in  London,  if  all  went  as  I  foresaw.  I 
replied  to  him  that  if  I  did  go  it  would  only  be  for  a  spell,  and 


JOSEPH  VANCE  463 

i  wasn't  going  to  desert  him.  I  could  not  say  to  him  that  I 
never  really  felt  happy  with  him,  because  I  could  not  talk  freely 
of  Janey.  When  I  referred  to  her  he  sighed,  "  Ah  dear — ah  dear," 
and  seldom  spoke  in  reply.  I  no  more  dared  speak  of  her  as  I 
thought,  as  of  a  living  something  in  a  time  I  had  no  conception 
of  and  a  space  my  eyes  were  closed  on,  than  if  he  had  been  Violet 
Towerstairs. 

When  I  next  day  saw  Plugh,  on  the  Sunday  at  Poplar  Villa, 
he  and  Lossie  were  surrounded  by  young  officers;  a  small  frac- 
tion, said  he,  of  a  train  of  worshippers  whom  Lossie  always  had 
in  hand  in  India.  "  You'll  see,"  said  he,  "  that  the  one  she  speaks 
to  will  brighten  up,  and  all  the  others  will  look  dejected."  Which 
happened  to  the  letter,  all  the  evening.  Such  a  crew  of  dear  boys, 
and  all  for  what?  The  only  survivor  of  the  party  (when  I  began 
to  write  these  annotations)  was  killed  the  other  day.  I  saw  his 
name  in  the  list  a  week  ago.  I  had  to  think  of  Dr.  Thorpe  and 
his  saying. 

When  the  last  laugh  had  died  away  and  the  last  good-night  been 
said — and  with  one  at  least  it  was  a  case  of  moriturus  te  saluiat, 
for  we  heard  of  his  death  a  month  later — the  General  and  I  turned 
into  the  Library  again  for  a  little  chat,  and  Lossie  vanished  up- 
stairs. 

"  What  do  you  think  now,"  I  asked,  "  about  going  to  claim  the 
letter — or  letters  ? " 

"  I've  got  them  here  somewhere,"  said  he.  "  There  are  two.  Got 
them  next  morning.  Here  they  are; "  and  he  brought  them  out 
of  his  pocket.  I  still  felt  uneasy  about  opening  them,  and  said  so. 

"  But  your  scruples  won't  go  the  length  of  collaring  them  from 
me  ? "  And  he  settled  the  matter  by  opening  one  forthwith. 

I  have  not  this  letter  here,  as  the  General  kept  it,  and  probably 
destroyed  it  after  Beppino's  affairs  were  wound  up.  It  was  in 
the  handwriting  of  the  first  letter  (signed  Annunciatina),  which 
Beppino  had  given  the  doubtful  explanation  of,  and  the  substance 
was  that  Annunciatina  Vance  was  looking  forward  with  rapture 
to  the  promised  return  of  her  darling  husband.  It  was  dated  the 
25th  of  September,  after  the  birth  of  the  baby,  which  had  been 
christened  Cristoforo,  as  his  father  had  wished.  It  was  carino 
ma  carino — veramente  un  angiolo  di  bellezza,  e  tanto  somigliante 
al  mio  tesoro.  There  was  only  one  macchia  on  the  writer's  pienezza 
di  gioia,  this  "crudele  ritardimento  del  ritorno — ah  come  deside- 
rate ! — del  mio  bramatissimo  marito."  The  letter  threw  some  light 
on  the  excuses  for  this  delay,  as  the  writer  dwelt  on  the  cruelty 
of  the  military  laws  which  dragged  the  husband  from  the  wife  and 


464  JOSEPH  VANCE 

the  son  from  the  mother  to  serve  in  the  army,  even  when  little 
fitted  by  nature  for  such  service.  Beppino  had  evidently  made 
representations  in  this  sense.  The  letter  thanked  him  for  his 
enclosures  of  denaro  sempre  ben  avanzato,  and  we  would  badare 
that  it  should  be  ben  risparmiato.  There  were  not  tanti  quattrini 
in  these  days!  Then  followed  more  expressions  of  rapturous  af- 
fection; but  as  I  cannot  recall  the  Italian  phrases,  this  descrip- 
tion of  the  remainder  of  the  letter  is  enough.  The  other  letter 
was  the  duplicate  of  the  one  I  had  received.* 

"  His  military  service,"  said  the  General.  "  The  little  miscreant. 
I  know,  Joe!  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum.  But  there's  a  limit." 

"I  wasn't  going  to  defend  him,"  said  I.  "I  was  only  going 
to  ask  you  where  you  found  the  letters  ? " 

"It  was  his  tailor's — I  really  felt  as  if  they  were  a  sort  of 
accomplices.  But  of  course  they  were  as  innocent  as  this  poor 
baby.  They  had  not  even  heard  of  Beppino's  death — which  was 
a  little  odd.  I  suppose  they  were  very  busy  with  their  winter 
orders.  He  had  told  them  to  forward  all  Mr.  Giuseppe  Vance's 
letters  that  came  there  to  the  Hotel  at  Avignon,  as  well  as  let- 
ters to  himself,  but  only  till  the  end  of  October,  when  he  expected 
to  return  to  London.  Several  had  come  for  Mr.  Giuseppe  Vance, 
but  none  for  Mr.  Thorpe.  All  had  been  forwarded  as  directed  but 
these  two,  of  which  the  first  arrived  October  31.  Our  Mr.  Abbott, 
who  knew  about  these  letters,  was  away  at  the  time,  and  only 
came  back  November  3d;  and  we  then  thought  it  best  not  to 
forward.  We  hoped  we  had  done  rightly,  and  I  said  yes." 

What  a  revelation  of  duplicity  and  lies!  How  did  the  little 
traitor,  under  the  very  eyes  of  his  new-made  bride,  contrive  to 
receive  and  answer  these  forwarded  letters  ?  There  must  have  been 
some  awaiting  him  at  the  hotel  when  he  arrived.  "  Surely  Sibyl 
would  have  seen  them  ? "  I  said. 

"Why  should  she  not?"  said  the  General.  "Kemember  they 
were  not  directed  to  him." 

"  But  Mrs.  Beppino  knows  my  name  well  enough,  and  would 
be  sure  to  ask  questions." 

"My  dear  boy,  the  letter  wasn't  directed  to  you  either.  Sibyl 
wouldn't  know  Giuseppe  Vance  from  Adam." 

"  But  she  would  have  seen  Beppino  take  the  letters." 

*  Mr.  Vance,  writing  for  an  imaginary  reader,  chooses  to  imagine,  among  other 
things,  that  this  reader  understands  Italian  !  We  have  done  our  best,  by  transla- 
tion and  omission,  to  remove  this  obstacle  from  the  path  of  the  ordinary  reader, 
bat  have  thonght  it  would  damage  the  character  of  the  work  to  cancel  or  alter 
the  whole.  The  reader  must  skip.— EDITOR'S  NOTE. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  465 

"Yes,  if  lie  had  grabbed  at  them  in  her  presence.  But,  you 
see,  he  was  no  fool.  Probably  he  waited  till  she  was  out  of  the 
way  and  then  told  the  hotel  man  he  would  give  them  to  Mr.  Vance 
at  another  Hotel.  There  could  be  no  difficulty  five  francs  wouldn't 


cover." 


And  so  we  went  on  discussing  the  ins  and  outs  and  difficulties 
of  the  matter;  and  I  did  not  feel  then,  and  never  have  felt,  clear 
about  how  it  was  manipulated  so  as  to  avoid  detection  and  ex- 
posure. But  Hugh's  head  was  cooler  than  mine  and  I  accepted 
his  view,  which  was  that  Beppino's  crime  was  now  a  thing  of 
the  past,  the  victim  being  dead  as  well  as  himself.  He  took  for 
granted  that  the  girl  had  been  deceived  by  some  form  of  bogus 
marriage — perhaps  only  to  satisfy  scruples.  "You  see,"  said  he, 
"  to  suppose  it  otherwise  would  void  his  marriage  with  Sibyl.  He 
seems  to  have  been  villain  enough  for  anything.  But  villains  re- 
spect property  who  would  treat  women  as  mere  drugs  in  the  mar- 
ket. Think  of  the  darling  Money  involved.  Beppino  was  not  rich 
enough  to  be  indifferent  to  Sibyl's  money — nor  pastoral  enough !  " 

I  assented  to  this  then.  Afterwards  I  saw  reason  to  doubt  it. 
But  I  now  see  Hugh  was  right.  He  knew  more  than  I  did  of  the 
power  of  the  one  thing  sacred,  the  motive  that  outlives  and  super- 
sedes all  others.  If  in  what  followed  after  I  had  allowed  enough 
for  the  force  of  gold,  many  things  in  my  life  might  have  gone 
otherwise. 

"What  shall  we  do  now?"  said  I,  when  we  began  to  feel  we 
could  get  no  further  light  on  the  subject  by  talking  it  over.  "  Sup- 
pose I  go  over  and  see  after  this  poor  little  card.  I  hope  to 
goodness  he'll  get  proper  sustenance."  The  General  could  not  help 
smiling.  "  My  dear  Joe  Vance,"  he  said,  "  what  a  regular  old  Mrs. 
Gamp  you  are !  " 

"  Lossie  always  says  so !  "  said  I.  "  But  I'm  serious.  I  shall 
have  to  go  to  Milan  in  the  course  of  the  spring,  I  might  just  as 
well  go  now.  I  can  send  cash,  and  instructions  to  Faustina  Ves- 
pucci, adhering  to  my  description  of  myself,  and  to  Beppino's 
death.  I  shan't  have  to  answer  any  questions  as  long  as  I  pro- 
duce cash." 

"  You'll  let  me  stand  Sam,"  said  Hugh. 

"No— I  won't,"  said  I. 


CHAPTER  L 

JOE  GOES  TO  FIESOLE.  AND  HEARS  ALL  ABOUT  BEPPINOJS  WILD  OAT, 
HE  GETS  HIS  LETTERS,  AND  ADOPTS  HIS  BABY.  HIS  MIXED  TALE  TO 
LOSSIE.  HE  IS  WALKING  ON  A  TIGHT-ROPE,  BUT  FOR  LOSSIE's  SAKE. 

IT  was  well  on  in  January  before  I  was  able  to  run  out  (as 
I  called  it)  to  Milan.  I  went  by  the  Mont  Cenis — rather  relieved 
to  escape  the  route  by  which  Beppino  and  I  had  travelled  out.  I 
should  have  found  Idomeneo  Pellegrini  blue,  and  his  mud-pie 
frozen.  The  journey  through  the  mountain  this  time  was  an  ex- 
perience of  sitting  in  a  stuffy  railway  carriage,  and  wrangling  with 
an  American  family  about  opening  windows.  I  remember  it  now 
as  an  instance  of  Man's  inconsequent  nature  that,  after  I  had  men- 
tioned to  the  Paterfamilias  that  I  should  probably  go  to  America 
in  the  autumn,  the  family  allowed  me  to  have  the  window  two 
inches  open  at  long  intervals. 

I  was  much  too  curious  about  Cristoforo  Vance  to  get  through 
my  Milan  business  before  seeing  him;  so  I  went  to  Florence  first 
and  took  a  vehicle  next  day  to  Fiesole. 

I  started  from  Maria  Novella  in  a  thick  fog,  which  with  a 
sufficient  supply  of  coal  smoke  would  have  given  the  Hotel  Minerva 
an  experience  of  London.  As  the  road  rose  towards  San  Do- 
menico  the  fog  lightened,  and,  when  we  arrived  there  it  was 
clear  enough  to  see  the  bells  swing  in  the  church-tower  as  well 
as  hear  them.  Then  we  started  on  the  serious  climb,  and  I  pro- 
posed that  I  should  walk  to  spare  the  horse.  But  the  driver 
said,  "  Che,  che !  Non  si  conf onda !  Si  accommodi !  Si  accom- 
modi!"  and  really  got  quite  excited  about  it.  The  horse,  which 
of  course  he  called  a  havallo,  was  equal  to  any  emergency :  "  Fara 
bene,  lo  garantisco  io ! "  But  he  got  down  and  walked  himself 
at  the  very  stiff  bit  at  the  top,  and  I  think  it  was  good  for  him, 
as  his  clothes  were  really  filled  out  too  tight  to  be  reasonable. 
By  the  time  we  got  to  the  Medici  villa  just  below  this,  we  were 
in  dazzling  sunshine,  and  spread  over  the  whole  valley  of  the  Arno 
was  a  strange  fog  sea,  looking  like  a  dead  level  plain  basking  in 
the  light,  and  from  the  centre  of  it  shot  up  the  towers  of  Flor- 
ence— the  Campanile  and  the  Signoria — and  the  colossal  dome  that 
could  take  St.  Paul's  inside  with  only  small  accommodation.  The 

466 


JOSEPH  VANCE  467 

sun  was  quite  warm  now  towards  mezzogiorno,  and  the  population 
of  vendors  of  roba  di  paglia  were  enjoying  it  and  I  suppose  pitying 
the  choked  and  shivering  Florentines  below.  They  were  indignant 
with  me  for  not  wanting  straw  workboxes  and  screens. 

I  found  that  the  Via  della  Carrozza  was  a  strada  running  from 
the  Piazza,  (where  the  Electric  Trams  stop  now)  along  the  face 
of  the  hill  where  the  stone  quarries  are. 

It  happened  that  it  was  a  rather  bad  road,  and  the  house  some 
distance  off;  however,  there  was  a  short  cut.  So  I  left  my  fat 
driver  behind  in  spite  of  his  protestations  about  the  powers  of 
his  havallo,  and  went  on  foot.  I  found  the  scorciatoio,  or  short 
cut,  and  then  the  house,  and  then  its  primo  piano.  And  there  a 
lassie  who  opened  the  door,  said  yes,  this  was  where  the  Signora 
Vance  had  lived,  and  if  I  would  passare  she  would  tell  the  Sig- 
norina  Faustina.  But  the  Signora  Vance  was  "morta  tre  mesi 
fa  " — dead  three  months  ago. 

I  was  fairly  put  to  it  to  understand  the  voluble  Tuscan  of  the 
Signorina  Faustina  when  she  came,  which  was  not  made  more 
intelligible  by  the  poor  woman's  overpowering  joy  at  seeing  a 
parente  of  the  povero  Signore.  Indeed,  we  had  not  gone  much 
beyond  establishing  who  I  was,  and  bringing  about  the  produc- 
tion of  Master  Cristoforo  Vance  himself  in  the  arms  of  an  amaz- 
ing balia,  or  wet-nurse  (who  at  once  set  at  rest  all  misgivings 
about  Cristoforo's  rations),  when  the  buon  Padre  appeared — he, 
as  I  learned,  who  had  advanced  money  for  the  spese.  He  was  a 
great  relief,  as  he  was  a  very  intelligent  middle-aged  man  who 
spoke  distinctly,  more  like  a  Roman  than  a  Florentine;  and  who 
also  knew  a  few  words  of  English,  having  passed  some  of  his 
early  life  in  a  fraternity  at  that  well-known  English  town  800- 
dongtong;  which  I  acknowledged  provisionally  and  identified  later 
as  Southampton.  But  these  things  take  time.  The  earlier  part 
of  our  interview  was  also  interrupted  by  the  chiasso  di  quel  bam- 
bino, who  certainly  had  strong  lungs,  and  seemed  to  object  to 
everything.  He  was  amiable  to  me  though,  and  took  steps  towards 
tearing  my  beard  out  by  the  roots.  He  then  forgot  to  let  go, 
and  became  distrait,  and  hiccoughed.  Then  he  started  the  chiasso 
and  was  removed.  It  seemed  so  funny  to  me  that  that  little  pur- 
ple-brown thing  was  really  Christopher  Vance,  and  called  so  after 
my  dear  Daddy,  although  his  own  father  had  scarcely  a  right  to 
appropriate  the  name. 

The  story  of  his  parents'  marriage,  or  what  the  priest  and  Signo- 
rina Faustina,  who  was  a  cousin  of  the  bride,  told  me  gradually, 
and  disjointedly,  may  be  condensed  as  follows: 


468  JOSEPH   VANCE 

Annunziatina  Vespucci  was  a  daughter  of  a  respectable  well- 
to-do  contadino  of  Castel  Florentine.  She  had  a  very  fine  voice, 
and  her  parents,  to  give  her  a  chance  of  educating  it,  placed  her 
with  a  relative,  an  aunt,  in  Florence,  at  whose  house  she  met  Bep- 
pino,  who  used  to  go  there  to  take  Italian  lessons  from  the  aunt. 
Beppino  made  love  to  her,  and  the  poor  girl,  who  was  barely  seven- 
teen, had  fallen  madly  in  love  with  him.  Her  parents,  learning 
what  was  going  on,  had  withdrawn  her  from  the  aunt's,  and 
forbidden  her  to  have  any  communication  with  her  lover.  I  did 
not  then  clearly  understand,  and  have  never  known,  what  objec- 
tion they  had  to  him.  Probably  he  crossed  some  other  arrange- 
ments they  had  in  view.  The  result  was  stolen  interviews,  and, 
finally,  that  Annunziatina  left  her  home  suddenly  and  was  mar- 
ried at  the  parish  church  of  Gualdo  Tadino  in  the  January.  The 
Priore  gave  me  his  most  solemn  assurance  of  his  belief  that  the 
marriage  had  been  strictly  in  ordine,  and  I,  being  perfectly  igno- 
rant of  Italian  usages,  could  not  question  anything  he  said,  nor 
was  I  inclined  to  do  so.  He  admitted  that  it  had  seemed  to  him 
strange  that  none  of  the  parenti  of  the  Signore  Vance  had  turned 
up — but  then,  che  vuole  ? — the  Signora  and  Signore  seemed  all-suf- 
ficient to  one  another.  Moreover,  I  was  not  to  suppose  he 
himself  had  really  seen  much  of  the  Signore — he  had  only  done 
what  he  could  to  reassure  and  console  the  Signora  after  his  de- 
parture. The  Signora  had  seen  nothing  of  her  parents,  who  were 
incensed  against  her.  But  when  the  Signore  was  called  away  in 
the  spring,  she  wrote  to  her  cousin,  the  Signorina  Faustina,  tell- 
ing her  of  her  condition  and  that  her  husband  was  called  away 
to  England  on  urgent  business.  She  had  wished  to  accompany 
him,  but  he  had  dissuaded  her — vedute  le  circostanze. 

Whatever  Beppino  supposed  his  position  to  be  with  respect  to 
poor  Annunziatina — whether  or  not  he  supposed  his  false  name  or 
some  law  shuffle  would  back  him  up  in  betraying  her — I  do  not 
know ;,  but  I  could  see  no  object  in  raising  doubts  of  his  integrity 
in  minds  where  none  existed.  I  had  the  task,  always  unpleasant, 
of  telling  literal  truths  in  such  a  way  as  to  produce  an  entirely 
false  impression.  The  task  was  all  the  easier  as  my  audience 
put  any  discrepancy  down  to  my  faulty  Italian,  and  substituted 
plausible  versions  of  their  own.  I  told  them  Beppino  had  left 
England  in  the  autumn,  none  of  "  us  "  knowing  exactly  what  his 
plans  were,  and  had  been  taken  ill  at  a  Hotel  at  Avignon,  and 
died  of  typhoid  a  fortnight  after  his  wife.  I  felt  a  horrible  liar 
in  speaking  of  Annunziatina  without  a  hint  of  a  question  of  her 
position;  and  wished  for  an  equivalent  of  "ma  che  vuole?"  in 


JOSEPH  VANCE  469 

English,  to  escape  my  own  conscience.  After  I  had  told  them  all 
I  could  get  into  bad  Italian,  subject  to  the  drawbacks  under  which 
I  spoke,  I  asked  were  there  no  letters  from  Avignon,  and  what  was 
the  date  of  the  last?  Yes,  there  were  many  letters,  and  the  last 
came  very  shortly  before  the  relapse  which  ended  in  Annunziatina's 
death. 

La  Faustina,  as  the  Padre  called  her,  produced  these  letters ;  but 
demurred  about  allowing  them  to  be  read,  or  to  go  out  of  her 
possession.  She  had  not  read  them,  though  she  had  heard  some 
of  them  as  they  arrived — was  not  sure  she  ought  not  to  destroy 
them  unread.  I  entreated  her  not  to  do  so,  until  I  had  time  to 
think  over  the  whole  thing.  I  saw  I  had  a  difficult  position  to 
deal  with,  but  was  anxious  to  get  every  light  possible  on  the  story, 
and  at  the  same  time  unwilling  to  leave  this  large  parcel  of  let- 
ters, signed  with  my  own  name,  without  knowing  into  whose  hands 
they  might  pass.  I  did  not  like  to  say  destroy  them  at  once.  I  said 
I  would  go  away  and  get  lunch,  being  aware  of  a  table  being 
laid  in  an  adjoining  room.  But  the  Faustina  begged  me  to 
f  avorire,  as  the  Priore  was  staying  to  desinare,  and  I  accepted  the 
invitation. 

I  did  not  take  a  very  long  time  making  up  my  mind  about  the 
course  to  pursue.  By  the  time  I  had  smoked  a  Trabuco  after  pranzo- 
(I  was  glad  to  find  that  everything  seemed  to  have  been  on  a 
most  comfortable  footing)  I  had  made  a  resolution.  And  the 
result  of  the  proposals  it  prompted  me  to  make  with  the  Faustina 
was  a  treaty  to  the  following  effect: 

She  for  her  part  was  to  take  charge  of  Cristoforo  Vance  and 
see  that  he  should  be  copiously,  even  extravagantly  nourished.  That 
his  legs  should  be  released  from  bondage  at  the  very  earliest  date 
Tuscan  usage  would  sanction.  That  she  should  write  to  me  every 
week  for  the  present,  and  should  receive  by  return  a  remittance 
to  cover  expenses  and  a  consideration  for  herself.  That  she  should 
also  accept  as  a  regalo  after  all  she  had  done  for  the  poor  Signora 
the  mobiglia  and  sundries  the  house  contained,  which  indeed  I 
should  have  been  puzzled  else  to  know  what  to  do  with.  And  lastly, 
that  the  letters  should  be  handed  over  to  me  to  give  to  the  Sig* 
nore's  executors  in  England.  These  conditions  being  complied  with, 
I  would  charge  myself  with  all  the  responsibilities  of  a  parent 
towards  Cristoforo. 

The  Faustina  hesitated  over  the  letters.  Would  it  be  right  to 
give  them  lip? — Remember,  she  saw  me  for  the  first  time! — The 
Padre  also  considered  there  should  be  a  clause  in  the  Treaty  about 
vlristoforo's  being  brought  up  a  Christian,  and  not  a  Protestante^ 


470  JOSKPH   VAJXUH; 

01  Free  Thinker.  I  was  about  to  point  out  that  the  mother's 
wish  decided  this,  when  I  perceived  that  if  I  made  difficulties,  and 
said  the  father  was  of  the  Chiesa  Evangelica,  the  Faustina  would 
concede  the  letters  in  exchange  for  a  concession  on  my  part.  So 
it  turned  out,  and  the  Treaty  with  some  minor  details  was  ratified. 
I  felt  a  great  story-teller,  but  then,  was  I  not  taking  over  Cris- 
tof oro ? 

I  have  made  great  efforts  to  remember  all  I  could  of  this  inter- 
view, in  order  that  I  may  recollect,  if  possible,  how  large  a  share 
in  it  was  taken  by  the  only  person  then  present  who  lives  on  into 
my  story.  I  think  I  have  recalled  everything  of  any  importance  so 
far.  Let  me  try  and  be  equally  accurate  with  the  remainder. 

When  the  Treaty  was,  as  it  were,  signed  and  sealed,  and  the  sub- 
ject of  it,  who  was  taking  some  refreshment,  had  been  brought  in 
for  a  final  inspection,  I  prepared  to  take  my  leave  and  go  back 
to  my  fly-driver.  The  important  parts  of  the  negotiation  had  been 
between  the  Faustina,  the  Priore,  and  myself,  none  other  being 
present.  As  I  exchanged  my  last  words  with  them,  there  were 
present  also  the  balia,  to  whom  Master  Christopher  was  attached 
as  a  limpet;  and  the  ragazza  who  had  admitted  me  to  the  house, 
and  waited  on  us  at  dinner,  when  our  conversation  on  the  main 
subject  had  been  less  specific  and  concentrated  than  either  before 
or  after.  As  nearly  as  I  can  remember  I  turned  to  the  Signorina 
and  told  her  in  the  best  Italian  I  could  command  that  I  intended 
to  fulfil  all  the  responsibilities  of  a  father  towards  that  child,  and 
that  although  his  baptismal  name  had  been  chosen  without  consult- 
ing me  I  was  quite  content  with  that  of  my  own  father,  whom  I 
should  consider  in  the  light  of  its  grandfather.  At  this  point 
the  ragazza,  who  had  been  directed  to  sparecchiare  our  coffee-cups, 
contrived  to  spill  them  over  on  the  ground  and  break  two.  She 
was  promptly  tried  and  convicted  for  staring  at  the  Signore 
Inglese  instead  of  fare  attenzione,  and  was  routed  and  driven  away 
into  the  cucina,  bearing  the  fragments.  The  Signorina  apologized 
for  her  behaviour,  saying  she  was  quite  insupportabile,  having  only 
been  installed  a  week,  during  which  she  had  smashed  two  piattini 
tondi,  and  sbocconcellato'ed  the  zuppiera.  However,  she  was  going 
to  licenziare  her  this  week,  and  get  another,  who  might  be  better — 
"  ma,  che  lo  so  io  ? "  This  is  the  last  occurrence  I  can  recollect 
as  I  said  good-bye  to  the  Faustina.  The  priest  walked  with  me  to 
my  carrozza,  and  on  the  way  pooh-poohed  the  idea,  which  I  recurred 
to,  of  any  possible  irregularity  in  the  marriage. 

Now  if  I  had  known  that  it  was  this  good  man's  duty,  as  a 
priest,  to  ignore  the  existence  of  the  municipal  marriage  and  its 


JOSEPH   VANCE  471 

indispensable  character  (for  without  it  no  marriage  is  legal),  I 
should  have  avoided  a  grave  mistake.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I 
never  realized  this  point,  and  went  on  for  years  under  the  delu- 
sion that  the  poor  Annunziatina  had  been  really  legally  married 
to  Beppino;  although  the  false  version  of  his  name  might  have 
invalidated  the  marriage.  I  remained  in  the  dark  by  accident. 
The  slightest  spark  might  have  illuminated  it — a  trivial  turn  in 
conversation — a  passage  in  a  newspaper!  Any  knowledge  of  an- 
other Italian  marriage  would  have  cleared  it  up  in  an  instant. 
What  a  many  novels  there  must  be  that  would  have  told  all  about 
it !  But  no  such  chance  occurred,  and  my  only  confidant  was  Hugh 
Desprez,  whose  Indian  experience  was  little  likely  to  set  him  on 
his  guard  in  points  of  Italian  law.  Moreover,  when  I  told  him 
the  results  of  my  visit  to  Florence,  I  assured  him  that  I  had  ll  made 
every  enquiry  "  and  was  perfectly  satisfied  that  so  far  as  the  mar- 
riage itself  went  it  was  valid;  but  that  I  thought  Beppino  had 
intended  to  shuffle  out  under  the  false  name,  or  had  relied  on 
securing  his  Italian  wife's  silence  by  threats  of  withdrawing  sup- 
plies. Things  of  this  sort  are  often  done,  and  succeeded  in.  I 
myself  once  knew  a  man  who  maintained  two  wives  and  two  fam- 
ilies in  England,  never  excited  the  suspicion  of  either,  and  when 
he  was  ruined  in  business  and  his  friends  "  got  him  out "  to  Aus- 
tralia, transported  both  his  households  with  him  on  the  same  boat, 
one  in  the  first  class,  the  other  in  the  steerage.  That  was  genius! 
But  Beppino  might  have  bullied  poor  Annunziatina  into  silence 
without  genius. 

When  I  returned  to  London  after  transacting  various  business 
at  Milan  I  did  not  find  the  General.  He  had  gone  to  Ireland  on 
military  business.  I  was  not  in  the  habit  of  keeping  secrets  from 
Lossie,  but  in  this  case  I  was  in  for  a  fib  or  two.  So  I  determined 
to  do  justice  both  to  all  the  truth  I  could  tell,  and  all  the  lies  I 
was  obliged  to  tell.  My  story,  as  it  came  out,  was  that  at  Flor- 
ence I  had  come  upon  a  six-weeks-old  bambino  both  of  whose  par- 
ents were  dead,  and  finding  that  it  was  named  Cristoforo  after 
some  one  I  didn't  know,  had  re-named  it  Cristoforo  after  my  own 
Daddy,  and  adopted  it.  So  it  would  have  his  name  and  be  Chris- 
topher Vance,  or  Vance.  I  said  I  had  not  gone  to  the  bottom 
of  the  question  of  his  parentage,  and  suspected  that  his  mother, 
whose  name  was  Vespucci,  had  not  been  well-treated  by  the  father. 
In  fact,  every  word  I  said  was  literally  true;  and  had  I  only 
added  that  the  father's  name  was  Joseph  Thorpe,  and  that  Mr. 
Thorpe  was  a  great  scoundrel,  would  have  been  unimpeachable. 
But  I  felt  very  guilty  in  spite  of  my  motives,  and  had  to  say 


472  JOSEPH  VANCE 

over  and  over  to  myself,  "  Oh,  Lossie  dear,  my  Lossie  of  the  bygone 
times,  my  Lossie  Janey  loved  as  well  as  I,  it  is  on  your  behalf 
J  take  this  stain  upon  my  conscience.  You  shall  never  know  the 
wickedness  of  the  brother  you  loved,  if  I  can  help  it.  Nor  shall 
his  child — that  is  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  dear  Loss;  that  is 
your  father's  grandson  as  much  as  your  own  boy — ever  be  the  worse 
for  the  loss  of  his  name  and  the  crime  of  his  parent,  if  I  can 
help  it."  And  I  thought  to  myself  "  what  a  terrible  thing  if  there 
had  been  a  posthumous  child  of  the  English  marriage !  "  For,  mind 
you,  I  had  then  no  idea  that  one  was  anticipated,  and  took  it  for 
granted  that  had  there  been  I  should  have  heard  of  it.  I  also 
accepted  without  question  the  Italian  marriage  as  sound.  But  even 
without  inheritance  the  shock  of  an  eclairgissement  both  to  Lossie 
and  Sibyl  would  have  been  enough. 

So  when  Lossie  threw  a  light  on  a  certain  preoccupation  on  her 
part,  which  seemed  to  me  to  prevent  her  taking  enough  interest 
in  my  adoption  of  Cristoforo,  by  suddenly  saying  to  me,  "  I've 
never  told  you,  Joe,  but  I  suppose  you've  guessed,  that  there'll  be  a 
baby,"  I  said  to  myself  thank  God  for  my  well-intentioned  sup- 
pressio  veri!  And  had  it  been  ten  times  as  big  I  should  have 
rejoiced. 

I  suppose  I  in  my  turn  looked  preoccupied,  for  Lossie  said, 
"  There,  Joe,  that's  just  like  you  to  take  no  interest  in  Beppino's 
baby!"  For  Lossie  was  always  half  aware  I  loved  her  young 
brother  languidly;  and  this  time  she  looked  quite  tearful  over  it. 
Now  suppose  she  had  known  whose  baby  Cristoforo  was! 

I  saw  I  should  have  to  have  some  teeth  out  over  this  business. 
But  then — Lossie  wouldn't! 


CHAPTEE  LI 

A  LETTER  FROM  A  MAN  OP  THE  WORLD.  THE  GENERAL'S  SATCHEL.  JOE 
ARRANGES  FOR  HIS  START  TO  BRAZIL.  BUT  HE  GOES  TO  SEE  CRISTO- 
FORO  AGAIN  FIRST.  HOW  HE  TOOK  A  WALK  AT  FIESOLE,  WITHOUT 
JANEY.  AND  HOW  HE  HEARD  THE  WALDSTEIN  SONATA  ON  THE 
TUSCAN  HILLS.  HOW  CRISTOFORO  TICKLED. 

WHEN  Sir  Hugh  Desprez  came  back  from  Ireland  a  few  weeks 
later,  I  took  the  first  opportunity  of  showing  him  the  packet  of 
letters  I  had  brought  from  Italy.  I  had  not  undone  them.  As 
in  all  our  colloquies  on  such  matters,  we  were  alone  after  every 
one  else  had  gone  to  bed.  I  laid  the  packet  on  the  Library  table, 
and  lit  my  cigar.  "There's  the  letters,  General,"  I  said.  Then 
he  also  lighted  up  and  we  smoked  in  silence.  The  packet  re- 
mained on  the  table  untouched.  He  spoke  first. 

"You  don't  seem  to  want  to  open  them,  Joe?" 

"  I  don't  want.  Besides,  I  have  no  right  to.  Now,  you  have. 
You're  his  executor." 

"  Yes — but  I'm  not  bound  to  read  his  love-letters.  I  don't  like 
the  job,  Joe." 

"  One  of  us  must " 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know."  So  we  smoked  a  little  more.  Then  he  said: 
"These  letters  would  throw  a  light  on  the  way  he  managed  to 
delay  so  long  without  exciting  her  suspicion,  or  perhaps  would 
show  he  did  not  succeed  in  doing  so.  It  would  do  us  little  good 
to  know  either." 

"  None  at  all,"  said  I. 

"We  might  be  able  to  infer  from  them  what  he  supposed  his 
own  legal  position  to  be.  But  you  were  quite  satisfied  the  wed- 
ding was  regular  ? " 

"Only  the  false  name.     Otherwise  all  right." 

"  I  admit  that  I  should  like  to  know  this :  Did  he  entrap  this 
girl  into  a  marriage  he  knew  he  could  shuffle  out  of,  or  did  he 
mean  to  stand  by  it  if  he  was  unsuccessful  with  Sibyl?  It's 
conceivable.  I  should  like  another  opinion.  But  that's  impossible. 
Nobody  can  be  trusted." 

473 


474  JOSEPH  VANCE 

"  Nobody.  My  own  opinion  is  that  he  believed  he  could  disown 
any  marriage  of  Giuseppe  Vance's — but  also  that  he  could  ac- 
knowledge or  claim  it.  The  law  would  in  every  doubtful  case 
go  on  the  principle,  '  Heads  the  man  wins,  tails  the  woman 
loses.' " 

"  That  is  so.  However,  what  we  have  to  settle  is — Shall  we  read 
these  letters,  or  throw  them  in  the  fire  ? " 

"  Throw  them  in  the  fire.    Here  goes!  " 

" Half-a-minute,  Joe!  Don't  be  rash!  What  do  you  say  to 
looking  at  the  last  letter  only,  and  seeing  when  he  wrote  it,  and 
where  ?" 

"  I  don't  mind  anything  you  vote  for,  however  indecisively.  But 
left  to  myself  I  should  burn  the  whole  kit." 

How  one  recollects  little  things!  I  can  remember  as  Hugh  cut 
the  string  of  the  packet  of  letters,  that  I  thought  to  myself  that 
that  was  the  smallest  penknife  I  had  ever  seen,  and  the  hand  that 
held  it  the  largest  and  strongest.  It  comes  out  vividly  now,  five- 
and-twenty  years  afterwards! 

"Most  likely  they're  in  order,"  said  he.  "Yes — at  one  end 
October  of  this  year — at  the  other,  October  of  last.  Let's  look 
at  this  last  one — dated  nowhere !  Is  that  somebody  coming  ?  " 

Yes,  it  was.  It  was  Lossie,  come  down  to  look  for  something. 
"  What  an  atmosphere !  How  you  men  can  sit  in  it,  I  can't  imag- 
ine! Only  my  mother-of-pearl  penknife.  I  left  it  on  this  table 
• — never  mind!  The  servants  will  find  it  to-morrow — lend  me 
yours."  And  the  General,  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  his  own, 
brought  out  the  missing  article. 

"  I  must  have  picked  it  up  off  the  table  unconsciously,"  said  he. 
And  Lossie  departed  with  it,  enjoining  me  not  to  keep  Hugh  up 
too  late. 

When  I  heard  her  coming,  I  had  hurriedly  picked  up  the  letters 
and  pushed  them  into  a  little  wallet  or  despatch  case  of  the  Gen- 
eral's that  was  standing  on  the  table.  It  was  an  almost  invariable 
companion  of  his — was  as  well  known  to  his  friends  as  himself. 
— He  had  carried  it  about  with  him  for  years,  and  used  to  say 
he  would  be  quite  lost  without  it. 

"  Now  the  letter !  "  said  he.  "  You  pushed  them  into  the  lining 
— my  satchel's  got  very  old  of  late  years — however,  it's  got  to 
last  my  time!  Pull  'em  all  out " 

I  did,  and  separated  them  on  the  table.  We  took  up  the  letter 
we  had  been  looking  at,  or  rather  he  did — and  went  on  to  read 
it.  I  watched  his  face  as  he  read;  the  concentrating  attention, 
the  increasing  grip  of  the  strong  muscles  of  his  jaw,  the  veins 


JOSEPH   VANCE  475 

swelling  more  and  more  on  the  temples,  the  greater  tension  of 
the  contracting  brow.  I  knew  now  what  Lossie  had  meant  when 
she  said  the  General's  anger  was  terrible,  and  why  she  turned  pale 
when  she  spoke  of  it. 

When  he  had  read  through  the  letter  he  threw  it  over  to  me  with 
an  exclamation  of  anger  very  difficult  to  describe.  "  That's 
enough !  "  said  he. 

It  was.  I  shall  never,  I  hope,  again  see  so  cowardly  and  mean 
a  disclaimer  of  a  solemn  obligation.  It  was  a  repudiation  of  his 
marriage,  alleging  that  his  victim  had  been  throughout  conscious 
that  it  was  invalid — that  he  had  repeatedly  told  her  that  his  real 
name  was  not  Vance,  and  that  he  was  not  called  Giuseppe  in 
English.  Had  he  ever  imagined  that  she  thought  him  in  earnest 
he  would  have  refused  to  make  the  concession  he  had  made  to 
her  conscientious  scruples.  It  was  time  to  speak  plain — the  play 
was  at  an  end.  He  should  always  fulfil  all  his  real  obligations 
to  her,  but  others  which  he  had  entered  into  elsewhere  compelled 
him  to  say  farewell.  It  was  very  English  Italian,  which  had  made 
it  easy  for  the  General  to  read. 

"  This  was  the  letter  the  poor  little  thing  got  just  before  that 
last  relapse,"  said  he.  The  pity  that  came  in  his  voice  with 
the  words  "  poor  little  thing  "  was  a  relief  to  hear  after  the  words 
and  the  sound  that  came  before.  I  felt  that  Hugh  was  back 
again. 

"  Of  course  it  killed  her,"  said  I.  And  he  nodded  assent.  "  And 
she  never  breathed  a  word  of  it  to  the  other  one — the  cousin," 
he  went  on. 

"Not  a  word,  apparently." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Joe,"  said  the  General,  giving  himself  a  great 
shake,  like  a  dog.  "We  don't  want  to  read  any  more  of  theee 
letters.  One's  enough." 

"  One's  quite  enough,"  said  I.  And  we  put  them  all  on  the  fire 
together,  and  felt  happier  when  we  had  no  further  choice  of  read- 
ing them. 

As  we  went  upstairs  (for  I  was  staying  on  that  night) 
Lossie  was  leaning  over  the  banisters.  "You  ought  to  have  been 
in  bed  long  ago,"  said  her  husband.  And  she  replied,  "  I  thought 
I  heard  you  roar,  dear,  some  time  ago — and  I  was  afraid 
something  was  wrong.  You  weren't  angry  with  Joe,  I  sup- 
pose ? " 

"  Oh  no — I  wasn't  angry  with  Joe.  I  say,  Loss,  do  remind  me 
to  get  my  old  satchel  mended — it  will  all  come  to  pieces — and  I 
couldn't  stand  having  a  new 


476  JOSEPH  VANCE 

How  very  strongly  all  the  small  details  of  this  conversation 
come  back  to  me!  I  have  written  down  so  many  that  are  quite 
needless  to  my  story. 

In  the  weeks  that  followed  this  I  was  conscious  that  our  inter- 
view about  the  two  babies,  actual  and  prospective,  had  not  left 
matters  exactly  as  they  were  before.  I  knew  that  my  new  char- 
acter of  having  something  to  conceal,  and  being  on  the  watch 
against  enquiry,  told  upon  my  manner,  and  that  Lossie  noticed 
it.  I  did  not  know  whether  she  would  connect  it  with  what  she 
had  said  of  my  indifference  to  her  news  about  Sibyl.  It  was  pain- 
ful; but  I  was  only  too  glad  not  to  rake  the  subject  up,  on  any 
terms.  I  let  the  sleeping  dog  lie. 

Three  months  passed.  I  made  my  arrangements  about  going  to 
Brazil.  I  had  undertaken  to  investigate  and  report  on  the  possi- 
bility of  the  great  Engineering  scheme  to  the  Government,  and 
if  my  report  was  favourable  it  was  expected  to  carry  great  weight. 
I  had  given  a  good  deal  of  attention  to  work  of  this  class,  which 
bad  rather  ousted  the  fabrication  of  machines  and  weapons  from 
my  mind.  Civil  Engineering  on  a  large  scale  is  the  most  exciting- 
work  there  is.  If  you  want  sleepless  nights,  construct  bridges 
across  torrents.  But  I  don't  think  appeal  was  made  to  me  be- 
cause I  was  credited  with  any  special  knowledge  or  skill;  but 
because  if  I  gave  a  favourable  report,  Capital  would  believe  I 
had  not  accepted  a  bribe.  Capital  knows  a  lot  about  that  sort 
of  thing. 

So  I  was  to  go  to  Brazil  in  the  autumn.  I  looked  forward  to 
it  with — well!  almost  with — pleasure.  It  would  be  a  complete 
change,  and  when  I  came  back  (I  was  to  be  away  over  six  months) 
I  hoped  I  should  find  the  current  of  events  coursing  in  a  tranquil 
stream,  and  all  the  unhappiness  and  disquiet  of  the  present  time 
forgotten.  The  interim  was  a  very  busy  one,  for  Bony  and  I, 
in  view  of  contingencies,  were  scheming  the  conversion  of  our 
business  into  a  Limited  Company,  and  putting  it  on  a  secure  foot- 
ing which  the  retirement  of  both  pr  either  would  not  endanger.  I 
thought  often  of  the  conversation  of  long  ago  at  Poplar  Villa, 
when  Dr.  Thorpe  suggested  that  I  should  take  up  Engineering 
seriously,  and  my  Father  undertook  to  jack  up  the  roof  of  his 
works  to  make  a  top  story  for  me.  I  could  not  bid  the 
factory  good-bye  gladly,  for  was  it  not  part  of  the  old  time?  But 
that  old  time  itself  was  slipping  away.  The  slight — oh,  so  slight! 
— tension  between  me  and  Lossie  had  given  me  a  new  reminder 
that  what  was  left  must  go  in  its  turn.  Nothing  could  be  done 
— for  it  was  not  safe  to  speak  freely  now  as  of  old.  I  would 


JOSEPH  VANCE  477 

go  to  South  America  for  a  spell;  things  would  get  absorbed — 
superseded — somehow  forgotten ! 

Meanwhile  before  I  went  away,  I  must  just  make  one  more 
excursion  to  Italy.  Another  interview  with  our  Milanese  allies 
would  do  no  harm,  and  I  wanted  very  much  to  see  whether  Cris- 
toforo  was  really  going  to  be  as  like  his  father  as  had  been 
alleged;  for  I  was  afraid  if  he  was  I  should  lose  interest  in  him. 
I  told  the  General  why  I  was  going,  but  said  as  little  as  possible 
to  Lossie.  The  fact  is,  I  shrank  from  creating  a  position  of  dis- 
simulation. 

So  at  the  end  of  May  I  put  myself  in  light  marching  order 
and  took  a  Cook's  ticket  for  Florence.  Lossie  was  too  preoccupied 
with  Sibyl  and  the  impending  arrival  to  ask  many  questions.  I 
said  I  was  going  to  Milan  and  should  "  try  to  go  round  by  Flor- 
ence and  see  my  little  protege,"  and  she  said,  "  Do  go  and  come 
back  and  tell  us  all  about  him — it  would  be  so  nice  to  hear." 
But  I  felt  she  was  being  distracted  by  Cristoforo's  coming  cousin 
— however,  if  she  hadn't  been  she  might  have  felt  my  duplicity 
in  my  voice. 

It  was  a  very  different  Florence  from  the  Florence  of  last  Jan- 
uary. The  population  had  found  its  voice  and  was  singing  about 
its  amore  and  its  cuore  and  its  Maria.  Very  small  boys  indeed, 
who  had  no  business  to  know  anything  about  such  matters,  were 
singing  about  their  cuore  and  their  Maria  in  tremendous 
voices  that  their  organization  did  not  seem  to  warrant.  They 
were  audible  hours  before  they  became  visible,  and  then  were 
only  just  perceptible  to  the  naked  eye.  But  they  filled  the  vault 
of  heaven  with  particulars  about  their  cuore,  all  to  the  same 
general  sort  of  Tuscan  tune  that  ends  in  its  own  special  cadence, 
and  suits  all  moods  of  the  singer.  Such  was  the  genial  influ- 
ence of  the  sun,  that  even  the  butcher  sang  about  his  beloved  as 
he  slit  a  whole  ox  down  the  middle  and  converted  it  into  a  hideous 
V,  that  half  filled  his  shop.  Florence  was  determined  to  enjoy 
the  cool  weather  (about  80  degrees  in  the  shade)  while  it  lasted; 
because  it  was  soon  going  to  be  really  warm,  and  we  should  only 
be  able  to  work  in  the  early  morning  and  the  late  evening,  and 
should  lie  fast  asleep  on  the  pavement  in  the  coolest  corner  we 
could  find,  as  happy  as  if  it  was  really  bed,  for  an  hour  at  least 
on  each  side  of  mezzogiorno.  And  then  after  that  it  would  be  hot- 
ter still,  and  we  should  be  able  to  do  very  little  except  fan  our- 
selves and  pray  for  a  thunderstorm.  Meanwhile  we  would  be 
merry,  and  the  frogs  and  the  nightingales  and  the  grasshoppers 
would  help. 


178  JOSEPH   VANCE 

The  waiter  at  the  Minerva  lamented,  apropos  of  the  deluge  of 
roses  that  flooded  the  whole  place,  that  it  was  a  pity  I  hadn't 
come  three  weeks  ago — the  flowers  had  been  very  fine  this  year. 
He  treated  the  present  supply  as  a  decrepitude.  I  have  noticed 
that  I  never  get  anywhere  in  the  nick  of  anything;  it's  only  other 
people  do  that.  I  was  reflecting  whether  I  could  adjust  a  remark 
to  this  effect  in  Italian,  when  the  waiter  perceived  by  magic  that 
I  should  ultimately  want  a  legno,  and  said  should  he  call  it  now. 
I  assented  and  he  said  Pst!  to  the  hall  porter,  who  called  out 
fiacchere!  to  space;  from  which  appeared  a  carriage  under  an 
awning  and  a  driver  under  an  umbrella  to  whom  I  suggested 
Fiesole,  as  before,  if  he  had  confidence  in  his  havallo.  And  he 
said  che!  che! 

If  Florence  had  altered  since  January,  Cristoforo  had  altered 
still  more.  He  had  become  as  pretty  a  bambino  as  one  often  sees 
even  in  Italy.  If  he  ever  was  like  his  father  the  likeness  had  left 
him.  A  pair  of  magnificent  black  eyes,  a  stupendous  voice,  a  prom- 
ising head  of  hair  and  a  performing  pair  of  legs,  very  choice  soles 
to  his  feet  and  an  unimpeachable  nape  to  his  neck — that's  Cris- 
toforo as  I  realized  him  when  I  came  to  examine  him  in  detail. 
As  to  the  creases  in  his  legs,  language  is  powerless — this  applies 
especially  to  one  inside  his  thigh,  in  which  the  human  finger  van- 
ished. He  welcomed  his  adoptive  father  with  an  accolade,  pro- 
fessing (through  his  agent,  the  Signorina  Faustina)  to  remember 
having  met  him  in  early  boyhood.  He  was  loquacious  in  his  own 
way,  but  he  only  used  words  that  ended  in  k  or  g,  omitting 
all  except  the  last  letter.  He  laughed  a  good  deal  at  his  own  wit, 
and  held  me  firmly  by  one  nostril  during  our  interview. 

I  had  intended,  if  he  had  turned  out  like  Beppino,  to  accept 
him  as  a  duty,  but  avoid  him  as  a  pleasure.  As  he  seemed  so 
satisfactory  and  pulpy,  and  obviously  going  to  be  his  poor  mother's 
own  son  (as  I  saw  from  a  portrait),  I  determined  to  pass  a  little 
time  in  his  society,  especially  as  I  was  going  to  be  six  months  away. 
So  I  told  the  ragazza  to  pay  the  driver  for  me,  and  leave  my 
valigia  at  the  Albergo  and  I  would  stay  on  for  a  day  or  two. 
This  was  a  new  handmaid  altogether — in  fact,  the  second  since  the 
coffee-cup  smasher. 

I  had  experience  of  the  inevitable  extension  into  further  fiction 
which  follows  any  adventure  in  that  direction,  especially  on  the 
part  of  inexperienced  persons  like  myself.  I  was  not  a  clever  liar. 
I  had  to  invent  a  good  deal  to  account  for  the  absence  of  any 
communications  from  Beppino's  executor  (for  whose  existence  I 
bad  vouched),  and  to  rely  almost  without  reserve  on  the  Faustina's 


JOSEPH  VANCE  479 

ignorance  of  English  customs.  I  fabricated  an  England  to  suit 
the  occasion — made  it  a  country  the  like  of  which  does  not,  I 
trust,  exist  anywhere.  The  way  in  which  noi  altri  lived  apart  from 
each  other  and  our  families  was,  I  said,  a  thing  no  Italian  could 
understand.  To  me  who  knew  them  well  it  was  a  matter  of  no 
surprise  that  Beppino's  few  surviving  relatives  had  not  shown 
any  vital  interest  in  his  marriage.  I  hinted  that  they  were  all 
Protestanti,  and  that  feeling  ran  high  among  them  against  Cat- 
tolici.  I  did  not  make  broad,  bold  statements  on  these  lines,  but 
poisoned  the  Faustina's  mind  with  hypnotic  suggestions.  I  pres- 
ently saw  my  way  to  introducing  the  possibility  that  the  famiglia 
might  make  a  descent  on  Cristoforo,  bear  him  off,  and  educate  him 
as  a  Protestant.  After  this  the  Faustina  showed  a  marked  dis- 
cretion in  approaching  the  subject  of  Beppino's  relatives.  I  told 
her  I  had  his  executor's  full  permission  and  approval  in  the  course 
I  had  taken,  and  that  I  myself  should  always  be  guided  by  con- 
sideration of  what  his  mother  would  have  wished.  I  therefore 
hoped  she  would  do  nothing  to  provoke  intervention  on  the  part 
of  his  family.  This  she  promised  readily — unless  the  reverend 
father  advised  otherwise.  I  felt  I  had  made  that  safe  enough! 

The  Faustina  gave  me  some  lunch  as  before,  and  I  remained 
through  the  heat  of  the  day  in  the  company  of  herself,  the  balia, 
and  their  charge.  Towards  sundown  I  turned  out  for  a  walk,  and 
wandered  along  the  road  on  the  hill-face,  looking  over  the  glory 
of  the  sunset  light  on  the  world  of  roofs  and  domes  in  the  plain 
below;  over  the  distant  Arno,  a  mirror  giving  back  the  rosy  gold 
of  the  sky  beyond  the  purple  Apennines  of  Carrara.  The  bells 
were  clanging  in  the  tower  of  San  Domenico — for  Vespers,  I  sup- 
pose; but  I  never  know — and  the  bells  of  a  mule  cart  toiling  up 
a  road  I  could  not  see  were  ringing  for  their  vespers  too.  And 
these  meant,  for  the  two  mules  and  the  supplementary  donkey 
(probably  it  was  a  stone  cart),  rest  in  a  little  while;  and  for  the 
human  creature  in  charge,  who  sang  short  lengths  of  stornelli  at 
long  intervals,  a  supper  of  black  bread  and  pasta  and  thin  Chianti 
and  a  long  cool  night  in  bed. 

What  would  the  magic  city  in  its  glory  have  been  to  Janey 
and  to  me,  could  we  have  seen  it  together?  To  me  it  was  noth- 
ing now — nothing  but  the  city  she  would  have  seen.  And  the 
purple  Carrarese  peak,  darker  and  darker  against  the  orange  glow 
of  the  horizon,  was  nothing  now,  to  me,  but  the  marble  mountain 
we  should  have  passed,  she  and  I,  just  before  the  railway  brought 
iis  to  the  city  with  the  leaning  tower,  where  we  should  have  stopped. 
San  Domenico  appealed  to  me  in  vain,  and  I  cared  not  a 


480  JOSEPH   VANCE 

straw  whether  the  monk  I  could  see,  like  a  fat  white  maggot,  in 
the  Saint's  walled  garden  below,  went  in  to  Vespers  or  not.  For 
his  bells  were  only  the  bells  Janey  would  have  heard  but  did  not. 
But  the  jangle  of  the  team  told  of  tired  beasts  she  would  have 
pitied,  and  of  a  tired  man  who  worked  long  hours  at  low  pay, 
and  could,  for  all  that,  sing.  So  when  I  came  across  him  further 
on,  I  conversed  with  him  and  asked  him  if  he  had  bambini.  And 
as  he  had  several,  I  asked  him  to  buy  them  some  piccolezze  as 
a  present  from  me,  and  gave  him,  to  his  great  surprise,  some- 
thing over  his  day's  pay  to  buy  them  with.  This  was  because 
Janey  would  have  done  so !  How  little  the  great  billows  that  were 
rolling  on  still,  to  dash  themselves  to  death  against  the  cliffs  of 
San  Joaquim,  knew  of  this  far-off  echo  of  their  wild  work  of 
two  years  ago,  among  the  hills  of  Tuscany! 

For  the  whole  world  had  now  become  to  me  the  world  Janey 
and  I  should  have  lived  in  together.  It  had  an  interest  for  me 
still  though — a  languid  one — on  its  own  account.  I  could  still 
speculate  on  why  that  blazing  star  in  the  gold  over  there  seemed 
to  me  to  be  definitely  spoken  of  by  Beethoven,  as  much  so  as 
though  a  Sonata  were  a  catalogue.  And  then  the  great  triumphant 
phrase  of  the  Waldstein  sounded  like  a  sudden  trumpet-note  in 
my  memory,  and  a  weight  went  off  my  heart  and  left  me  free. 

But  why  had  my  heart  been  weighted  more  than  its  wont? 
Simply  because  Janey  would  have  enjoyed  Cristoforo  just  as  much 
as  I  did.  I  felt  that  that  young  beginner,  as  my  Daddy  would 
have  called  him,  would  become  the  baby  Janey  and  I  should  have 
pampered  and  encouraged  together,  had  she  been  here.  And  then 
he  would  wind  his  fat  little  self  round  my  heart,  and  die  in 
teething  or  get  diphtheria,  or  tumble  into  a  water-butt.  Well!  I 
should  soon  be  in  South  America,  anyhow!  I  went  back  to  the 
albergo  and  fed,  and  wrote  letters.  Of  course  I  wrote  to  Lossie 
and  described  Cristoforo,  and  was  glad  to  be  able  (entrenched  as 
it  were  behind  the  Post)  to  show  a  free  sympathy  about  Sibyl's 
affairs,  without  fear  of  face-to-face  catechism  on  mine. 

I  was  very  sorry  when  the  time  came  to  say  good-bye  to  my 
figlioccio,  as  I  called  him — but  I  believe  it  was  the  wrong  word, 
as  I  did  not  hold  him  at  the  font.  He  kissed  me  affectionately 
at  parting,  or  his  agent  said  he  did.  7  should  have  said  splut- 
tered over — however,  it  was  well-meant,  and  answered  all  purposes. 
I  could  feel  his  powerful  hands  in  my  beard,  tickling,  all  the  way 
to  the  Station. 


CHAPTER  LH 

HERR  PFLEIDERER  DISAPPROVES  OP  BRAZIL.  HOW  JOE,  YEARS  AFTER, 
WENT  TO  LOOK  FOR  POPLAR  VILLA,  AND  GRASS  THEN  GREW  WHERE 
TROY  TOWN  STOOD.  HOW  BEPPINO's  SECOND  SON  (OR  THEREABOUTS) 
WAS  BORN.  THE  NEED  OF  BROWNING.  OF  A  VILLA  FOR  LOSSIE  AT 
SORRENTO,  NOT  FLORENCE.  HOW  THE  GENERAL  NEVER  UNDERSTOOD 
THE  DOCTOR,  MORE's  THE  PITY!  JOE's  LAST  HAPPY  EVENING  IN 
ENGLAND.  HOW  HE  CALLED  ON  AUNT  IZZY.  AND  OF  MR.  SPENCER. 
NOLLY  SEES  JOE  OFF  AT  EUSTON.  THE  SEA,  ONCE  MORE! 

I  AM  interrupted — just  as  I  was  going  to  get  my  Cook's  ticket 
timbratoed  for  Milan  (but  this  is  only  a  fa^on-de-parler) — by  my 
chess-friend,  Herr  Pfleiderer.  He  is  rather  late,  and  I  had  given 
him  up.  But  there  is  a  half-finished  game  on  the  board,  and  we 
shall  conclude  shortly  after  midnight  if  all  goes  well.  I  have  laid 
him  a  wager  that  I  will  draw  two  games  out  of  three,  in  which 
he  shall  always  open  King's  Gambit,  and  I  shall  always  refuse 
the  Gambit,  checking  with  Queen  at  Rook's  fifth.  He  is  very 
confident  he  will  jegmade  me  effry  dime.  Very  likely. 

I  foresee  that  I  shall  soon  have  to  break  it  to  the  Herr  that 
the  time  has  come  for  our  very  last  game,  and  that  I  shall  be 
returning  to  Brazil.  Suppose  I  do  so,  this  evening!  I  may 
as  well. 

So  as  soon  as  the  clangour  of  Miss  Austin  subsides,  I  mention 
to  him  that  I  have  given  notice  for  Michaelmas,  and  that  I  shall 
probably  clear  out  and  start  even  earlier.  Why  the  young  woman 
cannot  place  a  tray  with  bottles  and  glasses  and  sugar  and  lemons 
on  the  table  without  producing  the  effect  of  an  express  train  pass- 
ing through  our  station  without  stopping,  I  do  not  know.  But 
I  take  advantage  of  the  calm  that  follows  to  make  my  revelation. 
The  Herr  immediately  adopts  the  tactics  of  his  nation. 

"  You  do  nod  wand  to  go  to  Brazil.  It  is  nod  a  blaze  beople 
should  go  to.  It  is  bankrubbed.  There  is  a  Revolution.  You  have 
no  vriends  in  Brazil." 

"  Yes,  I  have — I've  an  adopted  son  there,  a  fine  young  fellow  of 
twenty." 

"Then  you  should  not  gum  to  Europe.  It  is  absurd  to  gum 

481 


482  JOSEPH   VANCE 

to  blazes  and  go  back.  I  shall  dague  the  bawn.  And  you  jeg  with 
the  roog.  And  I  inderboze  knide.  Why  haff  you  an  adopted  son  ? 
Why  is  he  not  your  own  son  ?  I  do  not  ligue  adopted  jildren." 

Herr  Pfleiderer  always  treats  all  other  people's  affairs  as  hav- 
ing been  referred  to  him.  We  finished  our  game  without  his  mak- 
ing any  concession  to  Brazil.  "  We  gannod  blay  again  for  a  vord- 
nide,"  says  he,  as  he  makes  ready  to  go.  "  I  am  going  to  Berlin." 
And  he  says  good-bye,  and  I  go  back  to  my  narrative. 

The  tickling  of  Master  Cristoforo's  ridiculous  fingers  in  my 
beard  died  away  by  the  time  I  reached  the  railway,  but  the  mem- 
ory of  it  lasted  me  all  the  way  to  Chelsea,  where  a  visit  to  Bony 
an  the  evening  of  my  arrival  and  a  collision  with  his  numerous 
progeny  of  all  ages,  rather  swamped  Cristoforo.  I  had  some  mis- 
givings as  to  telling  Jeannie  about  him,  but  I  had  to  do  so;  be- 
cause they  would  have  heard  of  it  in  the  end,  and  thought  it 
a  shame  I  hadn't  told.  But  I  treated  it  as  merely  a  good-natured 
act  on  my  part,  not  due  to  any  special  attraction  in  Cristoforo 
himself,  but  only  to  my  having  come  by  chance  on  a  very  young 
orphan  with  my  Father's  prsenomen  who  seemed  to  me  in  need 
of  a  caretaker.  I  had  a  whim  not  to  let  the  little  party  die  of 
want,  I  said,  and  if  I  paid  his  piper  why  should  he  not  bear  my 
name  ?  "  Then  why  not  have  him  over  here  ? "  said  Jeannie.  Be- 
cause, I  replied,  I  didn't  want  him  to  be  choked  in  a  London  fog. 

"  Shan't  know  what  to  do  without  you,  old  chap ! "  said  Bony 
as  we  sat  on  late  in  the  evening. 

"How's  your  old  governor?"  said  I,  skipping  a  few  bars  of 
the  conversation.  Bony  tapped  his  head,  and  then  shook  it,  which 
mean  that  old  Macallister  was  failing  rapidly  (as  I  knew,  not  with- 
out aid  from  whiskey),  and  I  drew  my  inferences. 

"  I  shan't  find  you  here,  when  I  come  back,  Bony,"  said  I. 

"Probably  not.  But  you'll  find  me  in  Perthshire,  if  I'm  alive 
and  the  old  boy  isn't.  Poor  old  Sawney !  "  For  that  was  the  namo 
he  went  by,  even  with  his  sons. 

u  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  come  to  Perthshire."  For  I  was  worm- 
eaten  with  sad  misgivings. 

"What's  the  matter,  man  alive?"  said  Bony.  "Why  shouldn't 
you  come  to  Perthshire?  Who's  going  to  keep  you  in  Brazil?  If 
I  didn't  think  that  railway  concern  sure  to  come  to  grief  I  wouldn't 
let  you  go." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  I  was  only  thinking  of  the  chances  of  Fate. 
Tkings  are  so  untrustworthy.  I  shall  be  back  in  the  spring." 


JOSEPH   VANCE  483 

"  Well,  Lady  Desprez  won't  allow  you  to  make  a  bolt,  Joe.  That's 
one  comfort,  at  any  rate ! "  And  one  discomfort  when  Bony  said 
this  was  my  reflection  that  Beppino's  sins  had  left  a  slur  on  my 
happiness  when  at  Poplar  Villa,  which  might  have  to  be  lived 
down. 

"  They  talk  of  going  to  live  at  Sorrento,"  I  said.  "  All  but  the 
hot  months,  of  course.  The  General  thinks  of  buying  a  villa  there 
if  he  can  get  it.  They  would  come  to  London  in  the  summer, 
though." 

"What's  going  to  become  of  the  old  lady?"  asked  Bony.  He 
meant  Aunt  Izzy.  My  memory  of  his  question  reminds  me  that 
the  poor  old  soul  has  disappeared  from  my  narrative.  And  nat- 
urally enough,  for  the  evidence  of  Aunt  Izzfs  existence  to  our 
senses  had  partly  disappeared,  and  with  it  had  developed  an  instal- 
ment of  the  Logic  that  was  to  affirm  her  total  non-existence  as 
soon  as  touch  and  sight  ceased  as  well  as  hearing.  For  the  old 
lady  had  given  up  her  battle  against  deafness — had  surrendered 
at  discretion,  and  seldom  or  never  made  her  presence  manifest.  So 
she  slips  out  of  this  story,  as  she  had  very  nearly  slipped  out  of 
our  lives.  All  that  was  wanted  now  was  that  we  should  neither 
see  nor  touch  her;  and  then  she  wouldn't  be  there  at  all,  and  we 
should  disbelieve  in  her  and  say  requiescat  in  pace.  But  I  am 
leaving  Bony's  question  unanswered. 

"  She'll  live  on  at  the  Villa,  of  course.  She  needn't  be  alone. 
You  never  saw  Edith  Sant?  Party  of  forty — going  deaf  herself.'*' 

"  Never  seen  her.  But  I've  heard  of  her  from  Jeannie,  and  I 
understood  she  wasn't  quite " 

"  She  isn't  quite.  But  she's  a  very  old  friend,  and  as  she's 
getting  deafer  and  deafer,  is  learning  finger-language.  She'll  live 
with  old  Miss  Thorpe,  and  they'll  have  theological  discussions,  and 
seances." 

"Oh,"  said  Bony,  "is  that  their  game?"  I  said  it  was  one 
of  their  games;  and  wondered  whether  two  Bogies  on  the  other 
side  whose  evidence  on  this  had  ceased  altogether,  would  find  a 
new  game,  or  fall  back  on  that  one!  As  for  the  poor  old  Aunt, 
I  heard  indirectly  that  she  only  ceased  to  be  tangible  and  visible  on 
this  side  some  four  years  ago.  She  died  at  a  good  old  age  at  Pop- 
lar Villa,  in  spite  of  the  plague-pit  underneath  it,  having  just  lived 
to  the  end  of  the  last  renewal  of  the  lease,  which  she  had  made 
herself. 

Poplar  Villa  is  gone  now.  I  would  have  faced  seeing  it,  how- 
ever sadly,  had  I  been  in  time.  But  shortly  after  my  return  I  drove 
down  our  High  Road  to  Wimbledon,  and  it  was  all  swept  away; 


484  JOSEPH   VANCE 

and  on  its  site  were  accommodated  a  Board  School  and  a  new 
street  that  was  to  develop  the  ripe  building  land  behind,  where  I 
remembered  Nolly  playing  cricket.  A  row  of  so-called  cottages 
that  were  not  cottages  at  all  were  on  their  way  down  one  side  of 
this  road,  and  I  went  into  one  that  was  to  let,  and  found  to  my 
horror  that  it  was  two  flats,  and  I  might  have  the  lower  one  for 
seven  shillings  a  week.  A  very  small  boy  of  eight  who  was  eating 
an  unripe  pear  informed  me  that  this  house  was  better  than  Poley's 
( ?)  next  door,  as  there  was  a  fizzing  tree  in  the  back  garden.  He 
took  me  out  through  smells,  to  the  back  yard.  And  there  was 
my  tree  of  the  years  long  gone.  But  there  was  no  green  lawn  now, 
and  the  whetstone  of  Samuel  rang  no  more  in  the  early  summer 
mornings.  Did  Samuel  ever  have  a  new  scythe,  I  wonder,  or  did 
the  thin  blade  vanish  in  some  other  hand? 

I  gave  the  small  boy  sixpence,  and  he  threw  away  his  mumbled 
end  of  the  pear,  and  ran  to  purchase  something  better ;  rousing  the 
neighbourhood  as  he  went  with  calls  to  favoured  friends  to  come 
and  share  his  luck.  He  was  a  generous  boy,  and  I  liked  him.  But 
1  must  get  on  with  my  narrative. 

I  had  of  course  seen  no  Times  advertisements  up  at  Fiesole; 
so  I  was  unaware  on  my  arrival  that,  on  the  day  I  left,  the  widow 
of  the  late  lamented  Joseph  Randall  Thorpe  had  had  a  son  at 
the  town  residence  of  her  father,  Bulstrode  Curzon  Fuller  Perce- 
val, M.  P.,  of  Park  Lane,  and  Parrettsdown,  Somersetshire.  I 
thought  it  very  likely  though,  and  was  not  surprised  when  Jeannie 
told  me.  She  had  heard  it  from  Maisie  Thorpe,  and  that  all  was 
well.  So  we  had  left  it  alone  and  gone  on  to  Cristoforo. 

But  I  nursed  a  little  flame  of  pleasure  in  my  heart  at  knowing 
what  a  happiness  this  would  be  to  Lossie.  When  I  went  over  to 
the  Villa  next  evening  I  had  the  luck  to  come  on  Lossie  in  a 
great  state  of  exultation.  The  perfect  sincerity  of  our  rejoicing 
over  the  event  on  both  sides  had  only  one  trifling  flaw — that  one 
of  us  put  more  side  on  than  was  necessary;  and  the  other,  know- 
ing this  fact,  accepted  it  as  no  more  than  normal.  If  we  had  had 
a  tiff,  this  would  have  been  right  and  nice.  But  there  had  been 
none.  It  was  like  the  case  of  a  clean  glass  upside  down  on  a 
shelf  that  you  take  down  to  drink  out  of.  You  know  it's  clean — 
oh  dear,  yes!  But  it  won't  be  any  the  worse  for  a  good  rinse- 
out.  We  had  our  good  rinse-out,  and  removed  from  our  hearts 
the  slight  soreness  that  had  never  been  there  at  all.  Of  course  not ! 

These  niceties  call  for  Browning,  to  put  them  shortly  for  us. 
The  man  that  wrote  "strange — the  very  way  love  began!  I  as 


JOSEPH  VANCE  485 

little  understand  love's  decay ! "  at  any  rate  understood  enough 
to  explain  this  little  flutter  of  counter-consciousness,  could  we  have 
employed  him. 

"  Well,  Joe !  "  said  Lossie.  "  So  now  we  can  all  breathe  freely ;  " 
— over  Sibyl,  of  course — nothing  else !  "  And  now  you  can  tell 
me  all  about  young  Cristoforo." 

Unfortunately  the  Turk  was  present,  and  her  smallest  brother. 
A  good  many  difficulties  arose  in  giving  the  explanations  of  Cristo- 
foro that  were  demanded.  Those  who  have  had  to  confront  and 
outflank  young  children  on  this  subject  of  their  provenance  will 
understand  what  I  mean.  If  your  imagination  can  supply  the 
conversation  antecedent  to  the  Turk's  home-question,  "  Which  are 
the  Papa,  then,  in  Italy  ? "  you  will  see  how  we  became  involved. 
Anthropomorphism  helped  us  at  our  need,  although  the  Turk  had 
to  be  said  "  shish,  darling "  to,  for  questioning  the  skill  of  her 
Maker. 

"  When  I  saw  Bony  to-day,  Loss,"  I  said,  when  quiet  ensued, 
"  he  told  me  Phemie,  the  youngest  but  one,  had  adopted  her  elder 
sister's  best  doll,  after  hearing  of  Cristoforo.  The  riot  was  hushed 
down,  but  only  by  assuring  them  that  mammas  could  not  adopt  the 
children  of  other  mammas  still  living,  and  only  Papas  in  any  case. 
He  told  them  Dolls  had  no  Papas,  being  bought  at  shops." 

"  I'm  glad  I  haven't  got  to  do  the  next  explanations  in  that  quar- 
ter," said  Lossie.  "  But  now  do  tell  me  more  about  Cristoforo." 

So  I  told  her  a  great  deal  more — all  quite  true !  And  nothing 
false  that  was  not  mere  repetition  of  what  I  had  told  before.  I 
recurred  to  Cristoforo  to  the  exclusion  of  other  topics  that  knocked 
at  the  door,  in  order  that  I  might  not  seem  to  shrink  from  par- 
ticulars. I  felt  I  was  improving  as  a  story-teller. 

"  I  shall  never  see  an  organ-grinder  now,  Joe,  without  thinking 
of  you.  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  him  ? " 

"Bring  him  up  as  an  organ-grinder,  naturally.  We  shall  have 
plenty  of  time  to  think  about  that  when  he's  done  teething.  What 
is  Sibyl  going  to  call  her  boy  ? " 

"  She  would  like  him  to  be  Beppino — because  poor  Bep  was  so 
much  Beppino  to  her.  But  her  father  says  it's  un-English.  No 
doubt  it  is.  Most  likely  it  will  be  either  Joseph  Curzon,  or  Ran- 
dall Curzon.  Let's  go  in  the  garden.  Come  along,  children. 
Come  and  help  to  water  the  roses." 

For  the  roses  were  still  due  at  Balham,  though  the  deluge- 
residuum  of  the  Florence  crop  had  been  held  a  contemptible  rem- 
nant by  the  Albergo  Minerva.  We  shouldn't  be  in  our  full  glory 
(of  a  few  dozen  blooms)  for  a  month  yet.  But  I  transplanted  my 


486  JOSEPH  VANCE 

mind  from  Fiesole  to  London  S.  W.  without  much  difficulty;  say- 
ing very  little  though  about  my  recent  experience  of  flowers,  lest 
I  should  seem  to  crow  over  Upper  Tooting. 

"  I  think  Hugh's  got  the  Sorrento  Villa,  Joe,"  said  Lossie. 
"  Can't  we  have  the  garden-pump,  Samuel  ?  " 

"We  could  have  it  at  once,"  said  Samuel.  But  it  seemed  it 
"  wouldn't  work,"  though  morally  it  was  a  perfect  pump. 

"  There  ain't  any  defect  in  the  pump  itself,  only  a  screw's  been 
wore,  and  loosened  off  the  'andle-plate.  So  when  you  rises,  the 
coverin'  comes  up  bodily.  Otherwise  you  might  say  it  was  in 
fair  order."  I  thought  of  the  character  my  Father  had  given  to 
pumps,  long  ago.  So  long  ago!  It  seemed  longer  than  it  does 
now. 

"It  wouldn't  take  above  a  minute,  or  maybe  two  at  most,  to 
connect  up  the  hose,  and  give  you  any  supply — why,  Lord,  it  could 
be  done  while  I  was  a-tellin'  you,  only " 

"  Only  what,  Samuel  ? " 

"  Only  it's  been  took  away  to  mend.  Promised  back  it  is  on 
Tuesday — but  there's  no  reliance." 

Lossie  could  laugh  still,  and  did  it.  And  a  new  generation  of 
birds  in  the  greenhouse  did  as  their  forbears  did  twenty-odd  years 
before,  and  broke  out  in  responsive  song.  "  I  knew  we  should 
have  to  fall  back  on  the  common  watering-pot,"  said  she.  "  No 
engineering's  any  use,  Joe,  you're  all  alike ! "  I  felt  she  was 
really  the  old  Lossie,  and  was  glad  to  be  happy.  For  if  Janey  sees 
me  now,  said  I  to  myself,  she'll  be  glad  too.  It  was  the  nicest 
little  bit  of  time  I  had  had  for  some  while;  and  the  children 
enjoyed  it  too,  helping.  The  pots  of  water  that  the  Turk  did 
not  tip  over  on  the  garden  path,  or  on  Desiree  and  a  new  Irish 
poplin  she  was  making  a  tea-gown  of  for  Lossie,  and  brought  us  out 
to  show  the  braiding  on,  found  their  way  either  on  to  their  mother, 
or  their  uncle  Joe,  or  the  rose-trees.  It  was  Arcadia,  and  when 
Hugh  came  in,  also  jubilant,  and  announced  that  the  Villa  at  Sor- 
rento was  an  accomplished  fact,  I  was  quite  sorry,  as  we  had 
to  go  in  to  get  ready  for  dinner  and  it  was  near  the  children's 
bedtime. 

"You've  really  settled  about  the  villa  at  Sorrento?"  said  I  to 
the  General,  as  we  smoked  in  the  evening,  out  in  the  garden. 

"  It  is  as  good  as  settled.  I  take  it  for  three  years  at  a  rental, 
with  the  refusal  of  the  freehold.  It's  not  to  be  sold  over  our  heads. 
Perhaps  I  shall  end  my  days  there — my  days  in  this  world.  You 
gee  I  am  to  all  intents  and  purposes  out  of  harness  now,  and  I've 
seen  a  deal  of  service  in  my  time.  I'm  turned  sixty." 


JOSEPH   VANCE  487 

"  Could  you  be  called  out  again  on  active  service  ? " 

"  Oh  dear,  yes !  But  of  course  it  would  be  optional,  practically. 
I  could  excuse  myself  on  the  score  of  antiquity." 

"  But  should  you  ?  " 

"  Not  if  J  thought  I  could  be  of  any  use." 

Any  one  who  did  not  know  Sir  Hugh  Desprez  as  I  did  might 
have  suspected  him  of  affectation  in  talking  thus  of  his  antiquity. 
"  Turned  sixty  "  did  not  prevent  his  seeming  at  the  very  prime  of 
his  natural  life.  Men  have  different  primes.  To  see  him  as  he 
stood  there  that  evening  in  the  half-light  of  the  moon  and  sunset, 
one  would  have  said  no  further  maturity  was  possible;  but  that 
as  the  slight  touch  of  coming  grey  in  the  hair  was  lost  in  the  mixed 
gleam,  no  present  decadence  was  visible.  He  retained  to  the  full 
the  flavour  (as  it  might  be  called)  of  not  being  in  uniform,  and 
not  being  on  horseback.  Except  for  the  gray,  and  that  thirteen 
years  of  absorption  had  told  upon  the  lip  scar,  he  was  the  same 
man  that  had  looked  so  pityingly  into  that  mirror  at  Oxford.  Five 
years  after  that  evening  on  the  lawn,  when  at  a  few  hours'  notice 
he  started  for  India,  to  join  the  army  in  Afghanistan,  there  was 
not  a  word  of  misgiving  in  Lossie's  letter  that  reached  me  at 
Eio  Grande  about  his  age;  only  about  the  reckless  way  in  which 
he  exposed  himself  needlessly  to  danger.  Probably  you  know  that 
he  never  returned  from  that  expedition. 

"  I'm  glad  about  this  baby  of  Sibyl's,"  said  he.  "  It  won't  stand 
in  the  way  of  her  marrying  again."  Then  some  brain-wave  passed 
between  us,  for  I  feel  sure  his  next  words  came  for  my  sake. 
"  She's  quite  young,  you  see — and  think  how  little  she  had  of  him  f 
Deduct  for  the  six  months  they  were  separated,  in  which  he  ne- 
gotiated his  other  marriage,  and  a  solid  twelvemonth  really  spans 
the  whole." 

"  I  shall  be  uneasy,"  said  I,  "  about  it  all.  Not  morally,  because 
I  consider  I  am  giving  Cristoforo  a  new  birthright  in  exchange 
for  the  birthwrong  I  am  acquiescing  in.  I  mean  I  shall  be  afraid 
of  a  big  burst-up." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  the  General.  "  I  only  wish  there  were  as 
little  chance  of  some  other  legitimacies  I  know  of  being  flawed 
as  there  is  of  this.  Cristoforo  won't  find  it  out — 

"  He's  very  sharp !  " 

"No  doubt!  But  he  has  to  attend  to  the  Commissariat.  You 
can't  do  two  things  at  once.  As  for  any  one  else,  trust  his  mother's 
family  to  do  nothing  that  will  stop  the  supplies.  And  even  if  they 
were  ever  to  identify  Giuseppe  Vance  with  Joseph  Randall  Thorpe, 
the  false  name  might  invalidate  the  marriage." 


488  JOSEPH   VANCE 

"But  Giuseppe  and  Joseph  are  the  same  name — and  I  thought 
that  in  England  at  least,  the  nome  di  f  amiglia " 

"Didn't  count?  It  would  be  a  doubtful  point.  But  I  don't 
believe  any  Italian  contadino  family  would  run  the  risk  of  get- 
ting their  daughter's  marriage,  which  is  now  held  legal — isn't 
it?" 

"Oh,  certainly!" 

"  Getting  it  thrown  into  ambiguity-land  to  secure — to  secure 
what?  They  would  have  no  object " 

"  I  see  your  point.    Well ! — I  won't  fidget  about  it." 

"  And  as  for  your  own  share  in  it !  Why,  my  dear  boy,"  and 
the  General  put  his  arm  round  my  shoulders,  schoolboy-wise,  as 
we  walked  on  the  lawn  in  the  dry,  warm  night  air,  "what  does 
your  connection  with  the  whole  affair  amount  to?  You  have  had 
the  knowledge  of  the  deed  of  a  damned  scoundrel  forced  upon  you, 
and  are  keeping  a  painful  silence  for  the  sake  of  its  victims.  And 
you  are  providing  the  principal  surviving  victim  with  a  better 
father  than  Nature  had  given  him." 

"  Ma  che  vuole  ? "  said  I,  imitating  the  Tuscan  letter  we  had 
read  together.  We  laughed,  and  Lossie  said  out  of  the  old  Nursery 
window  above,  "  You  two  seem  very  merry  down  there  in  the  moon- 
light. What's  the  joke?"  I  forget  the  reply. 

When  Hugh  said  "  damned  scoundrel "  I  felt  his  words  tighten 
the  muscles  of  the  arm  on  my  shoulder.  I  thought  of  the  three- 
year-old  little  Joe  looking  at  books  with  me  up  in  that  very  Nur- 
sery, and  there  was  Lossie  at  the  window ! 

"  I  hope  Bep  isn't  damned,  sine  die,  for  all  that,"  said  I.  And 
the  General  said  very  gravely,  "His  Father  may  forgive  him — 
if  he  knew  not  what  he  did,"  and  then  we  took  a  turn  or  two, 
and  I  would  fain  have  forgotten  him.  But  he  hung  about  the 
mind  of  my  companion. 

"  I  never  quite  made  him  out,"  said  he.  "  I  know  you  and  the 
Doctor  accounted  for  him  by  some  form  of  backward  growth  which 
I  never  rightly  understood ;  though  Thorpe  often  talked  of  it. 
Perhaps  you  and  he  saw  Beppino  the  man  very  little.  I  saw  him 
more  in  his  man's  character — especially  when  we  were  at  Sorrento, 
and  after.  Sometimes  when  a  man  goes  on  living  a  great  deal 
at  home  as  he  did,  he  gets  a  sort  of  double  character — his  home 
self  harks  back  on  his  childhood,  his  other  self  looks  ahead." 

"Dr.  Thorpe  didn't  mean  that.  He  meant  that  he  had  never  grown 
—himself!  His  intellectual  powers  and  his  body  had  matured, 
but  his  spirit  remained  a  baby.  If  that  was  so,  an  overwhelming 
acces  of  the  passion  of  passions — what  he  called  Love — would 


JOSEPH  VANCE  489 

sweep  the  baby  will  before  it,  and  employ  the  mature  intellect  to 
compass  its  ends."  But  it  occurred  to  me,  as  I  said  this,  that  we 
might  find  excuses  for  almost  anything  if  we  insisted  on  the  ex- 
istence of  a  soul  or  spirit  that  was  neither  mind  nor  body,  and 
laid  all  our  bad  actions  at  the  door  of  the  latter.  However,  I 
would  give  Beppino  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and  hoped  (rather 
chillily,  I  admit)  that  he  would  be  able  to  expiate  his  guilt  and 
start  fair  on  the  ground  that  in  some  sense  he  "knew  not  what 
he  did."  Perhaps  the  ecclesiastics  of  Jerusalem  for  whom  divine 
forgiveness  was  first  asked  on  that  ground,  would  have  behaved 
otherwise  had  their  souls  been  better  grown.  But  I  did  not  say 
this  to  the  General.  For  to  him  as  to  many  another  noble  man 
I  have  known  any  reference  to  the  events  of  Calvary  as  occur- 
rences that  actually  happened,  was  distasteful  if  not  painful.  They 
were  not  History,  but  Scripture,  and  broadly  speaking  might  be 
considered  to  have  happened  on  Sunday. 

"  I  never  understood  the  Doctor,"  said  he ;  "  nor  he  me !  I  used 
to  tell  him  so,  and  that  I  was  just  an  old-fashioned  Christian,  and 
my  Bible  was  enough  for  me.  And  he  would  reply,  '  Well,  Hugh, 
Christianity  is  the  best  working  hypothesis  of  Life,  so  far/  And 
I  once  wanted  him — it  was  only  a  few  days  before  his  death — to 
tell  me  more  exactly  what  he  thought  about  it,  and  he  was  telling 
me,  when  unfortunately  Violet  came  in,  and  he  stopped  short." 

How  well  I  could  imagine  it!  The  General  and  I  chatted  a 
little  longer  on  the  lawn,  as  there  was  no  Violet  to  silence  us,  and 
then  went  in  and  talked  about  the  children  with  Lossie. 

I  have  always  counted  that  evening  my  last  happy  evening  in 
England.  For  in  the  two  months  that  passed  before  I  started  for 
New  York  on  my  way  to  Bio  I  was  desperately  busy,  for  one 
thing.  For  another,  the  General's  family  absorbed  Lossie  and 
her  children,  and  when  not  in  Pall  Mall  (as  was  very  much  the 
case)  the  General  himself.  A  turn  at  the  seaside  put  the  finishing 
touch  on  our  restrictions,  and  though  I  saw  Lossie  to  say  good-bye, 
it  was  one  of  those  unsatisfactory  good-byes  under  protest,  when 
a  pretence  is  made  by  both  that  they  are  sure  to  see  each  other 
again,  and  they  know  quite  well  they  are  not,  and  are  sorry; 
yet  have  a  sneaking  gladness  at  avoiding  the  pain  of  a  real  fare- 
well. I  think  I  must  have  known  at  heart  that  it  was  one,  by 
the  way  I  hugged  the  children.  Randall,  the  eldest,  a  great  big 
boy  home  from  school,  was  too  proud  and  manly  to  be  hugged; 
but  not  to  cry  in  a  corner  because  Uncle  Joe  was  going  away  for 
ever  so  long.  He  and  I  were  great  friends,  though  I  have  men- 


490  JOSEPH  VANCE 

tioned  him  very  little.  The  Turk  wished  to  accompany  me  and 
defy  Society. 

Fate  was  unkind  also  about  Bony  and  his  wife.  Old  Sawney 
might  just  as  well  have  died  three  months  later,  instead  of  taking 
them  away  from  me  to  witness  his  final  adieu  to  the  whiskey  bottle, 
and  leaving  Chelsea  lonely.  He  summoned  them  too  on  a  false 
pretence  that  he  was  in  extremis  and  then  rallied  briskly,  and  kept 
them  hanging  about  for  six  weeks  or  more.  So  I  saw  very  little 
of  them. 

I  think  I  must  have  disbelieved  in  the  date  of  my  return,  or 
I  should  not  have  gone  to  Poplar  Villa  to  say  good-bye  to  it,  when 
no  one  was  there  but  the  old  Aunt.  Edith  Sant  had  come  on  tem- 
porarily and  acted  as  the  Medium  at  the  seances  in  which  I  was 
the  spirit  and  Aunt  Izzy  the  mortal,  or  vice  versa.  Communication 
was  by  fingers  as  far  as  Miss  Thorpe  went.  The  phenomena  were 
unconvincing,  and  I  wouldn't  stop  to  lunch,  thank  you,  and  said 
good-bye.  I  walked  out  once  more  into  the  garden  and  looked 
at  the  pear-crop,  said  good-bye  to  Samuel,  and  came  back  through 
the  door  my  dear  old  Dad  and  I  had  wiped  our  boots  at.  And 
then  the  carriage  gate  swung  to,  and  its  latch  overpassed  its  mark, 
and  hesitated  to  and  fro  as  a  latch  that  would  fain  avoid  closing 
on  an  old  friend  for  the  last  time.  It  did  it  in  the  end  though, 
and  I  came  away  with  the  web  of  pain  in  my  eyes  and  temples, 
and  vague  misgiving  in  my  heart;  thinking  how  when  I  first  came 
out  of  that  gate  Lossie  ran  down  the  steps  and  gave  me  cake.  And 
now — I  was  not  going  back  to  my  Mother !  nor  to  Janey  in  Chelsea 
— only  to  her  empty  house. 

However,  there  was  her  Father,  poor  old  boy!  I  went  and  said 
good-bye  a  good  deal  to  him,  and  made  a  solemn  promise  to  come 
back  in  six  months.  That  promise  I  ranked  as  my  great  achieve- 
ment in  falsehood,  next  after  my  fibs  about  Cristoforo.  Dear  little 
Cristoforo!  How  I  did  hope  he  was  assimilating  that  balia  at  a 
great  pace.  But  I  didn't  mean  to  be  false  outright — I  really  mecnt 
to  come  back  rather  later  than  I  said — two  months  or  so.  How- 
ever, I  never  saw  my  father-in-law  again.  He  joined  the  Choir 
of  Invisible  Solicitors  some  seven  years  later.  In  fact  he  only  sur- 
vived the  news  of  the  death  of  his  eldest  daughter  (Lossie's  great 
friend  Sarita)  a  few  weeks.  It  was  after  that  that  I  heard  from 
Nolly,  who  was  his  partner  in  business  and  his  executor,  that  a 
box  with  Janey's  name  on  it  had  come  from  Ceylon  with  other 
effects  of  Sarita's,  and  that  he  would  prefer  that  I  should  open  it. 
I  replied  to  this  (I  quite  believed  it)  that  I  should  come  to  Eng- 
land shortly,  and  would  send  for  it.  Thinking  to  save  trouble  1 


JOSEPH  VANCE  491 

wrote  at  the  time  to  the  Pantechnicon  people,  enclosing  a  writ- 
ten delivery  order  to  be  signed  by  them  and  given  up  to  Nolly, 
to  call  for  the  box  and  keep  it  with  my  other  things  until  my 
return.  That  reminds  me  that  Nolly  could  find  me  now,  if  he 
wanted  to,  by  going  to  the  Pantechnicon  for  my  address.  He  would 
only  have  to  hunt  up  a  receipt  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  old ! 

It  reminds  me  also  to  mention  that  it  was  during  this  lonely 
interval  in  Chelsea,  before  my  departure,  that  I  braced  myself 
up  to  do  what  I  knew  must  be  done  in  the  end,  and  broke  up  my 
home — Janey's  home!  It  was  easier  for  me  that  none  was  there 
to  see  or  speak  to  me.  The  burial  of  the  furniture  in  the  Pan- 
technicon was,  however,  the  most  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to; 
1  could  not  pick  and  choose  and  say  I  will  send  this  here  and 
that  there.  So  there  I  interred  them,  and  there  they  will  remain, 
for  all  I  can  see,  until  the  annual  payment  ceases ;  and  then  they 
will  go  to  auction,  to  pay  expenses,  and  persons  of  prey  will  snap 
them  up  for  an  old  song.  But  the  tune  of  that  old  song  will  be 
none  of  those  that  Janey  played.  Those  are  all  gone  now,  unless 
indeed  some  echo  of  them  mixes  in  the  music  of  the  seas  that 
break  for  ever  against  the  rocks  of  St.  Joaquim,  and  almost  reach 
the  little  cenotaph  above;  on  which  one  word  alone,  her  name,  is 
written. 

I  last  remember,  in  that  London  of  my  old  life,  the  face  of 
Nolly,  who  came  to  see  me  off  at  Euston.  He  is  almost  the  only 
one  of  all  I  have  seen  since — just  a  minute  by  that  chance  that 
I  told  you  of.  Oh,  how  I  longed  to  take  the  hand  of  Lossie's 
brother — the  hand  that  bade  me  Godspeed  that  day  at  Euston 
Station,  twenty  years  ago!  He  would  have  been  himself  to  me, 
as  of  old;  for  I  doubt  if  he  knew  much  ever  of  the  cause  of 
the  rift  between  me  and  Lossie.  He  only  thought  I  had  slid  away, 
as  folk  do,  in  life.  But  I  should  have  waked  a  many  wolves  in 
my  renewal  of  the  past.  Better  to  let  them  lie.  It  would  all  be 
right  in  the  end. 

The  sun  went  down  on  a  stormy  sea  as  I  lost  sight  of  land  on 
the  Cunarder,  bound  for  New  York.  Yet  I  was  not  thinking  of 
whether  I  should  return  or  no,  but  of  the  endless  rolling  billows 
under  the  great  cliffs  of  Portugal,  and  the  lonely  cenotaph  upon 
the  hill. 


CHAPTER  LIH 

WHAT  JOE  HAS  BEEN  DRIVING  AT.  HE  HAS  CRISTOFORO  OUT  TO  HIM  IN 
BRAZIL.  HOW  THE  GENERAL  DIED  LIKE  A  HERO  AT  MAIWAND.  LOSSIE 
GOES  TO  FLORENCE.  A  PLEASANT  LETTER  FROM  HER  AT  VILLA  MAGON- 
CINI.  ANOTHER,  WITH  A  PLEASANT  POSTSCRIPT.  JOE  TAKES  A  RIDE 
AND  SHOOTS  A  HALF-BREED.  ACCIDENT  TO  CRISTOFORO.  JOE^S  AN- 
SWER TO  THE  LETTER.  MORE  CORRESPONDENCE,  TERRIBLE  TO  JOE. 
ALL  IS  ENDED.  "  THIS  IS  FOR  LOSSIE." 

I  SHALL  soon  come  to  a  point  at  which  I  shall  account  my  self- 
imposed  task  finished.  Before  I  complete  what  little  I  have  left 
to  tell,  let  me  try  to  make  it  clear  to  my  imaginary  reader  (as 
it  is  to  myself)  what  it  was  that  originally  I  proposed  to  do — 
that  I  meant  to  cover  a  quire  or  two  of  foolscap  with — that  has 
spread  out  over  the  best  part  of  a  ream. 

I  have  lived  two  distinct  lives;  one  of  thirty-odd  years  in  Eu- 
rope; one  of  twenty-odd  in  South  America  and  the  States.  You 
must  realize  that  the  latter  is,  or  was  till  two  years  ago,  my  life 
of  the  present;  one  of  excitement  and  strenuous  activities;  of  con- 
test and  effort;  a  life  sometimes  in  the  open  with  hunters  and 
fishers;  even  of  military  service  and  peril  of  death  among  bar- 
barians. It  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  story,  which  is  an  effort 
on  my  part  to  think  back,  now  as  I  approach  the  end,  into  the 
dear  old  past  this  stormy  twenty  years  has  nearly  effaced. 

Had  I  not  come  away  from  Brazil,  it  never  would  have  oc«urred 
to  me  to  make  this  effort.  Nor  would  it  have  been  possible  with 
my  surroundings  to  bring  back  to  my  mind  all  I  have  recalled  and 
written.  In  fact,  had  it  not  been  for  the  first  clues,  supplied 
by  Lossie's  letters  which  I  got  in  the  box  from  the  Pantechnicon, 
I  should  have  found  it  hard  to  make  a  start.  It  was  those  let- 
ters that  brought  it  all  back.  But  my  intention  has  throughout 
been  to  stop  my  narrative  abruptly  at  the  end  of  my  European 
life,  if  only  because  I  am  coming  to  an  end  of  the  undertaking 
that  brought  me  back  to  England.  I  think  I  have  mentioned  the 
history  of  musical  instruments  I  am  engaged  on,  which  has  caused 
me  to  frequent  the  British  Museum  reading-room  for  two  years 
past.  It  was  begun  some  time  since  in  New  York;  and  when 

492 


JOSEPH   VANCE  493 

three  years  ago  a  fracture  of  the  left  arm,  following  on  a  period 
of  great  strain  and  fatigue,  made  it  really  necessary  that  I  should 
take  serious  repose,  I  took  it  in  hand  again  at  Rio  Grande,  which 
has  been  my  Brazilian  anchorage,  and  was  so  exasperated  at  my 
want  of  documents  that  I  saw  I  must  either  give  it  up  or  come 
to  Europe  to  find  them.  In  spite  of  considerable  losses  in  South 
American  investments  (notably  Argentine  railways)  I  was  still 
well  enough  off  to  indulge  myself  in  a  long  holiday,  or  indeed  to 
retire  from  work,  without  withdrawing  supplies  from  any  de- 
pendent. Reasonable  economy  was  necessary — but  no  more — and 
the  chambers  I  am  occupying  answered  very  well,  though,  had  I 
known  it  would  be  over  two  years,  I  might  have  sought  out  some 
better  rooms,  with  a  better-tempered  proprietor.  My  idea  at  first 
was  to  go  back  in  a  twelvemonth  at  most.  I  am  very  near  the 
completion  of  my  historical  work  now ;  three  months,  I  think,  might 
finish  it.  I  shall  then  go  straight  back  home,  as  soon  as  I  have 
made  arrangements  with  the  Publishers. 

Having  interposed  this  word  of  explanation,  in  writing  which 
I  have  not  seemed  unreasonable  to  myself,  I  go  on  to  the  frag- 
ment of  narrative  that  is  wanting  to  complete  my  European  life, 
and  shall  add  no  more  to  it  than  belongs  to  my  subsequent  cor- 
respondence with  Lossie  and  her  husband ;  that  being  the  only  link 
that,  after  my  departure  to  America,  connects  me  with  the  events 
I  have  narrated.  Of  course  I  exchanged  letters  with  Bony  until 
his  death,  and  with  my  father-in-law.  I  heard  from  Jeannie  about 
seven  years  ago — an  account  of  my  dear  old  friend's  last  illness, 
and  how  his  mind  wandered  back  to  the  old  days  of  St.  Withold's, 
and  the  great  fight.  I  had  other  correspondence  too,  from  my 
stepmother  in  Worcestershire  and  so  forth — but  after  about  ten 
years  it  died  down  and  I  felt  my  Europe  was  a  thing  of  the  past. 

It  should  be  clear  from  the  above  that  my  life  of  twenty  years 
past  forms  no  part  of  my  scheme;  I  have  only  now  to  deal  with 
a  sequel  of  my  European  life,  which  overlaps  it.  I  need  not 
tell  anything  of  the  delays  that  prolonged  the  stay  I  had  at  first 
proposed  to  make,  or  of  the  effect  that  a  life  of  great  activity 
and  excitement  had  on  one  who  sadly  wanted  influences  of  the 
sort  to  counteract  a  growing  morbidness  and  reserve,  the  fruits 
of  past  unhappiness.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  one  undertaking  fol- 
lowed another;  each  one  always  beginning  before  its  predecessor 
ended,  in  such  a  way  that  no  pause  for  withdrawal  presented  itself; 
and  the  time  slid  away  till  near  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  some- 
how gone  since  I  first  projected  a  journey  to  Brazil. 


494  JOSEPH  VANCE 

I  had,  however  (as  will  be  seen)  few  inducements  to  come 
during  the  greater  half  of  my  time  there. 

It  very  soon  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  was  to  have  any  ad- 
vantage from  Cristoforo  while  he  was  still  young  and  succulent 
he  would  have  to  come  out  to  me.  After  two  or  three  postpone- 
ments I  began  to  have  misgivings  about  the  genuineness  of  my 
proposals  to  return,  and  in  the  course  of  my  second  year  found 
I  was  beginning,  as  it  were  mechanically,  to  throw  out  hints  in 
my  letters  to  the  Signorina  Vespucci  about  the  advantages  South 
America  offered  to  Italians.  The  bait  took,  and  I  was  not  much 
surprised  to  receive  from  the  Faustina  herself  a  proposal  to  bring 
Cristoforo  out  to  his  adopted  parent.  The  Faustina,  it  also  ap- 
peared, had  become  engaged  to  an  Italian  Officer,  with  the  stipu- 
lation that  she  should  not  be  obliged  to  part  from  Cristoforo.  If 
her  fidanzato  could  be  certain  of  an  impegno  on  his  arrival  he 
wouldn't  mind  coming  too.  So  we  were  suited  all  round,  especially 
as  I  at  once  got  preferment  beyond  his  wildest  dreams  for  Cesare 
Nissim,  which  was  the  fidanzato's  name.  The  Signora  Nissim  con- 
tinued in  charge  of  Cristoforo  during  his  infancy,  and  when  he 
came  to  schoolboy  age  surrendered  him  to  me,  with  many  tears, 
owing  to  the  increase  of  her  own  family.  I  made  new  arrange- 
ments for  my  boy,  which  don't  come  into  my  story. 

My  correspondence  with  Lossie  went  steadily  on,  as  also  with 
Bony.  The  dream  that  I  should  return  was  seriously  treated  by 
both  for  many  years.  I  can't  find  any  hint  of  any  other  possi- 
bility until  Lossie  writes  in  '78.  "We  quite  despair,  dear  Joe, 
of  ever  seeing  you  again — do  think  it  over  seriously,  and  next  time 
a  contract  is  to  be  signed  to  tunnel  the  Andes,  or  bridge  the  Ama- 
zon, pause  a  little  and  think  of  your  friends  in  Europe.  It  would 
be  so  good  to  see  your  dear  old  face  once  more,  here  at  Sorrento. 
And  still  better  to  see  you  once  again  at  the  old  home.  The  youiif? 
people  are  all  growing  up  at  a  great  rate,  but  they  don't  forget  their 
Uncle  Joe.  Randall  is  quite  a  model  Etonian;  only  I  don't  fancy 
he  will  be  his  father  again.  He's  very  studious — he  may  end  his 
days  a  Bishop !  Fancy  Papa's  grandson  a  Bishop !  "  and  goes  on 
to  say  how  all  the  children  talk  about  me,  even  the  Turk,  young 
as  she  was  when  we  parted.  We  generally  exchanged  letters  two 
or  three  times  in  the  year,  till  the  change  came. 

In  '79  came  her  letter  telling  how  Hugh  had  started  at  a  week's 
notice  to  join  the  Army  in  Afghanistan.  She  had  tried  hard  to 
persuade  him  to  let  her  go  too.  But  he  was  firm  about  this. 
What  would  she  gain  by  being  at  Peshawur  if  he  was  shot  at 
Cabul?  She  might  just  as  well  be  at  Sorrento.  Then  how  about 


JOSEPH  VANCE  495 

tlie  children?  So  she  consented  to  remain  with  a  heavy  heart, 
and  in  time  came  the  news  of  the  disaster  of  Maiwand,  and  his 
death  at  Candahar.  My  memory  serves  me  ill  about  details,  and 
her  letters  give  very  few;  of  course  she  knew  I  should  read  the 
story  over  and  over  again  in  the  newspapers.  She  only  dwells  on 
little  personal  matters  I  should  especially  recollect.  Did  I  re- 
member the  little  wallet  he  called  his  satchel,  that  he  never  would 
part  with  if  he  could  help  it.  It  was  that  very  one  the  bullet 
that  killed  him  passed  through!  Of  course  I  did.  How  well 
I  now  recollect  pushing  Beppino's  wicked  letters  away  in  it.  Thank 
Heaven !  my  Oristof oro  never  reminded  me  who  his  father  was. 

It  was  about  six  months  after  this  that  Lossie  wrote  that  she 
was  going  to  sell  the  villa  at  Sorrento.  She  wrote  from  Poplar 
Villa,  where  she  and  the  children  were  remaining  much  later  than 
for  many  years  past,  as  it  was  mid-October.  She  shrank  from 
the  return  to  the  Sorrento  Villa  with  all  its  associations  with  her 
husband.  But  she  had  lived  too  much  in  Italy  to  be  able  to  live 
anywhere  else.  So  she  should  leave  the  sale  to  the  Agents,  and 
take  the  children  to  Florence  to  see  if  anything  suitable  could  be 
found  there.  "  You  know,"  she  wrote,  "  I  have  always  had  such 
love  for  Florence  because  my  darling  Joey  (Beppino)  had  such 
a  nice  time  there — just  before  his  marriage,  you  remember  ?"  I 
remembered.  "I  should  so  like  to  take  his  boy  and  mine  to  see 
the  Spanish  chapel  and  the  Benozzo  Gozzoli  frescoes  he  used  to 
talk  so  much  about."  Then  this  letter  goes  on  to  say  what  a 
dear  fellow  young  Beppino,  Sibyl's  boy,  has  grown,  and  what 
amazing  talents  he  is  showing,  and  what  high  moral  qualities; 
and  how  fortunate  this  is,  as  he  will  be,  when  he  comes  of  age, 
heir  to  the  unentailed  portion  of  his  grandfather's  property.  FOP 
his  grandfather  had  been  pitched  off  his  horse  in  the  hunting-field, 
and  his  next-door  neighbour  had  been  unable  to  stop  and  had  ridden 
over  him  and  been  in  at  the  death.  Meanwhile  Death  had  been 
in  at  the  mortal  tenement  of  poor  Mr.  Fuller  Perceval,  and  had 
taken  its  tenant  to  Another  Place— an  Upper  Chamber,  let  us  hope. 
All  his  devisable  property  was  left  (subject  to  his  widow's  life- 
interest  and  some  legacies)  to  his  grandson  Joseph  Randall 
Thorpe.  All  the  more  reason,  I  thought,  why  no  doubt  should  be 
cast  on  Joseph  Randall's  legitimacy. 

A  letter  followed  this  one  of  Lossie's  at  a  quicker  interval  than 
usual;  about  two  months.  It  was  written  at  Florence  from  the 
Hotel  Nuova  York;  and  I  was  not  absolutely  sorry  it  wasn't  from 
the  Minerva.  The  less  my  footsteps  were  trodden  in  the  better. 
Remember  that  nothing  of  this  sort  ever  passed  without  a  little 


496  JOSEPH   VANCE 

twist  to  my  inner  self,  that  it  was  keeping  something  back  from 
Lossie.  How  I  should  have  rejoiced  to  speak  out  freely,  and  get 
into  the  fresh  air  once  more!  The  letter  was  all  about  the  Villa 
Magoncini  on  the  Koad  under  Fiesole,  that  turns  to  the  right  before 
you  get  to  San  Domenico.  It  was  a  perfect  Paradise — only  wanted 
one  or  two  stoves  in  the  rooms — had  never  been  modernized  nor 
Anglicized  nor  Americanized — and  could  be  bought  outright  with 
two  poderi  for  two  thousand  pounds.  She  was  just  posting  a 
cheque  to  the  agent  with  direction  to  complete  the  purchase  forth- 
with. It  was  too  late  to  tell  her  how  much  of  that  money  would 
go  into  that  agent's  pockets.  So  I  only  wrote  congratulations  and 
said  I  wished  I  could  be  there  to  see. 

The  next  letter  is  in  May,  and  they  are  all  settled  at  the  Villa 
"  to  the  boundless  joy  of  the  girls,  and  would  be  to  mine  also,  if — 
but  you  know,  dear  Joe,  as  well  as  it  can  be  known,  what  that 
if  means.  I  do  wish  you  could  be  here,  for  I  could  talk  to  you 
of  Hugh.  There  is  no  one  here  now  that  I  can  speak  of  him 
to  but  the  babes,  and  they  are  only  babes.  Even  when  Violet  comes 
out,  it  is  little  comfort  to  hear  that  'we  are  told'  this,  and  it 
is  *  wrong  to  doubt '  that.  It  would  be  such  a  happiness  to  hear 
Papa's  voice,  saying  things  one  knew  he  meant." 

Then  follows  much  about  the  villa  and  the  chapel  and  the  con- 
tadini  and  the  huge  white  oxen.  "  Can  any  one,  I  wonder,  make 
these  glorious  creatures  go  an  atom  faster  than  bas-reliefs  or 
induce  them  to  stop  when  they  don't  want  to?  Your  Turk  (do 
you  know  she's  nearly  nine — isn't  it  awful?)  wanted  to  kiss  one 
of  them,  and  he  shook  his  head  slightly,  and  the  wind  of  it  knocked 
the  Turk  down."  And  so  forth.  All  of  which  gave  me  pleasure 
to  read,  and  to  write  in  answer  to.  My  next  letter  was  not  to 
be  so  pleasant. 

It  was  written  in  September,  at  the  time  of  the  Vintage.  I 
saw  as  I  opened  it  a  large  P.  S.  on  a  separate  sheet.  Not  quite 
like  Lossie,  I  thought  to  myself.  However,  never  mind  now;  we 
should  come  to  it  in  time.  I  settled  down  to  read  the  letter. 

"It  was  a  splendid  Vendemmia.  The  whole  household  was  at 
work,  and  Paolo  was  even  recommending  that  a  new  tino  should  be 
obtained  forthwith  at  any  cost,  as  the  old  ones  would  never  be  big 
enough.  It  was  so  funny  to  see  Dick  (the  Towerstairs)  trying 
to  smoke  large  cigars  and  cut  grapes  at  the  same  time. 

"  Really  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  like  Tuscany,  in  the  vint- 
age. The  great  white  oxen  dragging  the  loads  of  botte  up  to  the 
Cantina  is  the  most  majestic  sight  in  nature,  and  we  all  felt 


JOSErH  VANCE  497 

ashamed  (except  Dick)  of  sitting  gormandizing  at  lunch  indoors 
when  tocco  came,  while  all  the  contadini  were  hard  at  work  again 
after  black  bread  and  the  thinnest  wine  man  ever  drank." 


So  ran  on  the  letter,  through  eight  pages,  ending:  "We  only 
want  you  here,  dear  old  Joe,  you  and  your  Italian  boy,  and  it 
would  be  perfect."  A  very  nice  letter,  and  I  almost  felt  I  was  with 
them  in  Tuscany. 

But  what  was  all  this?  How  about  the  postscript?  The  first 
dozen  words  made  me  grave  and  attentive.  The  first  sentence 
showed  me  a  serious  danger  ahead.  By  the  time  I  had  read  through 
it  I  was  already  feeling  that  I  must  keep  cool.  You  know  what 
one  is  when  one  feels  one  must  keep  cool.  Here  is  what  I  read: 

"  I  really  do  not  know,  dear  old  Joe,  if  I  ought  to  repeat  to  you 
the  monstrous  piece  of  nonsense  that  has  come  round  to  us  about 
you  and  your  Italian  boy.  It  is  too  bad  that  such  rubbish  should 
get  about.  Fancy  it's  being  said,  in  the  face  of  all  the  facts,  that 
the  boy  is  your  own  son !  Having  written  it,  I  feel  so  angry  with 
myself  for  having  done  so,  and  as  if  I  ought  to  tear  it  up.  Of 
course  I  at  once  told  Violet,  who  told  me  (and  also  what  I  could 
not  believe  to  be  true  that  ' everybody'  was  saying  it),  that  I 
knew  all  the  particulars  about  the  boy;  and  that  everybody's  ver- 
sion (if  he  really  said  it)  was  entirely  wrong.  I  asked  her  to  tell 
me  who  everybody  was,  in  this  case,  and  how  everybody  came  to 
know  anything  about  you.  Violet  said  the  Seth-Pettigrews,  who  at 
any  rate  knew  all  about  it,  although  I  might  choose  to  think  them 
nobody,  had  told  her.  She  said  of  course  they  knew  nothing  about 
you,  but  they  knew  the  Signorina  Vespucci  years  ago,  and  she  had 
charge  of  '  your  baby.'  I  cannot  tell  you  how  angry  Vi  made  me. 
You  know  I  am  very  fond  of  Vi,  but  you  know  how  disagreeable 
she  can  be  when  she  likes.  As  for  the  story  itself,  don't  let  it 
make  you  uncomfortable.  I  am  not  at  all  sure  I  hadn't  better  de- 
stroy this,  after  all.  However,  it's  always  better  to  be  out  in  the 
open,  as  Papa  used  to  say.  I  shall  call  upon  Mrs.  Seth-Pettigrew 
as  soon  as  they  come  back  from  Via  Reggio,  and  tell  her  the  facts, 
and  I  am  sure  I  shall  find  that  Vi  has  made  the  most  of  some 
chance  word,  jus«  to  vex  me  about  you.  You  know  she  always 
went  on  those  lines.  It's  a  sort  of  parti  pris  with  her;  though  why, 
Heaven  knows!  And  as  for  the  Seth-Pettigrews,  they  are  the 
biggest  gossips  in  Florence,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal.  How- 
ever, dear  old  boy,  don't  let  their  rubbish  fidget  you.  I  shouldn't 


498  JOSEPH  VANCE 

write  it,  only  of  course  it  will  be  nice  to  have  your  letter  back  to 
enable  me  to  squash  it  altogether." 

I  read  this  through  a  dozen  times — but  could  get  no  forwarder 
in  my  task  of  keeping  cool  than  to  say  over  and  over  again  that 
I  must  do  so.  I  felt  my  pulse  going  quicker  and  my  head  grow- 
ing hotter.  The  worst  of  it  was  there  was  no  living  creature 
I  could  consult. 

"  Come  stai,  Daddino  caro  ?  Come  stai  ?  Mi  pari  malinconico," 
said  my  boy  Cristoforo,  the  unconscious  cause  of  it  all.  I  had 
taught  him  Daddy;  and  of  course,  being  Tuscan-born,  he  made 
it  a  diminutive.  I  could  not  talk  it  over  with  the  little  man — • 
not  quite!  But  I  could  surely  with  Signora  Nissim?  Could  I? 
No — I  couldn't.  How  was  I  to  tell  her,  please,  that  the  sorella 
of  our  boy's  father  was  in  want  of  proof  that  I  wasn't  that  father 
myself?  Perhaps  that  is  too  bold  a  restatement  of  Lossie's  con- 
cluding words — but  they  seemed  to  me  to  have  that  meaning  in 
the  bush.  No,  I  could  not  speak  even  to  her ! 

Oh,  why — why — need  Lossie  ever  go  to  Florence?  Was  there 
none  of  the  swarm  of  towns  on  the  Riviera  that  would  have  done 
as  well,  where  no  living  soul  knew  aught  of  me  or  mine?  And 
if  Florence,  why  Fiesole?  I  got  half  mad  trying  to  think  what 
I  could  write  to  her,  tore  everything  I  began,  and  ended  by  post- 
ponement. Meanwhile,  how  to  keep  off  a  fever?  I  could  ride 
over  to  Torviedro,  where  I  was  wanted  on  business,  about  forty 
miles  off.  I  could  ride  all  through  the  tropical  night.  That  would 
suit  me  now  exactly.  There  was  a  nice  full  moon  just  climbing 
off  the  mountain  edge  over  there.  The  road  was  bad  and  I 
could  not  go  fast;  but  I  waked  my  man  I  went  to  see  in  the 
dawn,  and  made  him  give  me  breakfast.  I  passed  the  day 
in  activity  and  excitement,  the  great  remedy  for  all  trouble,  went 
down  in  a  mine  where  the  miners  were  in  mutiny,  and  anticipated 
the  police  by  shooting  a  half-breed  through  the  head.  Any  one 
under  too  great  a  strain  of  nervous  tension  finds  homicide  a  great 
relief.  But  I  was  destined  to  have  a  still  greater  antidote  ad- 
ministered to  my  feverish  symptoms.  For  I  rode  back  next  night 
tinder  a  diminished  moon  and  arrived  again  at  dawn  to  find  poor 
Cristoforo  in  the  hands  of  the  doctor,  with  his  head  bound  up. 
He  and  a  little  friend  of  eight  had  found  a  pointed  knife, 
and  were  playing  most  peacefully  at  assassinations  when  he 
did  his  performance  of  the  victim  wrong,  and  got  very  badly 
cut. 

He  got  quite  well  in  a  few  days,  and  he  and  his  friend  Pepito 


JOSEPH   VANCE  499 

showed  me  with  the  paper  knife  how  they  were  doing  it,  and  why 
it  went  wrong.  But  I  believe  his  mishap  was  good  for  me,  and 
when  a  week  after  Lossie's  letter  came  I  nerved  myself  up  to 
answer  it,  I  felt  much  better  qualified  for  the  task  than  when  I 
tried  before.  I  can  recollect  my  reply  to  the  postscript,  but  not 
the  whole  letter.  Here  it  is: 

"  As  to  your  postscript,  dear  Loss,  I  hardly  know  what  to  say 
more  than  that  the  false  gossip  about  me  and  my  little  man  is 
evidently  a  misconstruction  put  upon  the  circumstances  under 
which  I  took  possession  of  him.  Perhaps  the  people  at  the  Hotel 
got  a  report  of  my  behaviour  at  our  first  introduction,  and  could 
not  ascribe  it  to  any  one  short  of  a  father.  You  know  you  used 
always  to  say,  like  Mrs.  Crupp,  I  was  a  '  mother  myself/  That 
is  really  the  only  theory  I  can  formulate  to  account  for  the  ab- 
surdity. This  letter  will  take  too  long  to  reach  you  for  anything 
I  say  in  it  to  influence  matters.  But  I  am  sure  your  judgment 
will  have  been  right  about  what  amount  of  contradiction  is  most 
likely  to  procure  truth.  I  should  say  simply  deny  it,  and  leave 
the  facts  to  make  out  their  own  case."  Then  I  went  on  with  a 
long  undisturbed  letter,  telling  all  about  my  moonlight  ride,  and 
the  miners'  meeting  and  Toforino's  game  of  murder  with  little 
Pepito,  and  the  amazing  musical  genius  of  little  Giuseppe  Nis- 
sim,  who  at  four  was  already  a  passable  violinist.  Lossie  would 
remember,  I  said,  that  Madam  Nissim  was  the  Signorina  Vespucci, 
Cristoforo's  mother's  cousin,  whom  she  said  the  Seth-Pettigrews 
had  known. 

I  did  not  hear  from  Lossie  again  till  after  the  new  year,  the 
last  letter  I  ever  had  from  her;  and  though  she  is  still  alive  and 
well,  I  shall  never  have  another.  But  in  the  interim,  as  near  as 
I  remember  at  the  end  of  November,  the  Faustina  came  to  me 
laughing,  with  a  letter  she  had  just  received  from  the  Signora 
Ledidesprez  (which  she  treated  as  all  one  word).  She  had  writ- 
ten that  I  was  not  to  see  it — but  that  was  too  absurd!  the  thing 
was  a  mere  joke  to  laugh  about — not  to  be  taken  too  seriously,  so 
I  need  not  look  so  anxious  about  it.  Che !  che ! 

The  letter  was  to  ask  Madame  Nissim,  as  a  special  favour,  to 
write  one  line  to  disabuse  the  Signori  Seth-Pettigrew,  whom  she 
would  remember  at  Fiesole  seven  years  ago,  of  a  foolish  idea  that 
they  had — and  then  followed  particulars,  and  a  reference  to  the 
persistency  of  the  Seth-Pettigrews.  But  this  would  be  silenced 
at  once  by  a  word  from  Madame  Nissim,  who  had  known  Cristo- 
foro's  parents.  She  hoped  Madame  Nissim  would  say  nothing  to 
me  about  it,  as  it  would  very  likely  seem  more  important  to  me 


500  JOSEPH  VANCE 

than  it  really  was ;  but  she  had  no  right  to  impose  conditions.  Of 
course  she  herself  knew  it  was  nonsense.  But  people  were  very 
difficult  to  convince  when  once  they  got  hold  of  an  idea.  The 
letter  was  written  in  very  fair  Italian. 

"  But  I  don't  know  any  Signori  Seth-Pettigrew,"  said  the  Faus- 
tina. And  we  were  quite  unable  to  identify  these  persons,  and 
gave  them  up  as  a  bad  job.  It  occurred  to  me  afterwards  that 
perhaps  il  Signora  Scappatigre,  whom  I  had  heard  of  from  Faus- 
tina, might  have  something  to  do  with  them,  but  at  the  time 
we  did  not  connect  them  up. 

"  Ma  non  lo  capisco ! "  said  she,  suddenly  attacked  by  reflection, 

"La  Signora  Ledidesprez  is  the  sister  of  Toforino's  babbo " 

and  looked  mightily  bewildered.  For,  relying  on  the  gap  between 
Bio  Grande  and  Florence,  I  had  spoken  of  Lady  Desprez  as  Bep- 
pino's  sister. 

"  Cara  Faustina,"  said  I,  "  there  are  some  things  I  cannot 
explain  to  you  fully,  because  you  do  not  understand  us  English. 
But  you  know  who  Toforino's  babbo  was,  and  that  he  had  the  same 
name  as  myself  ?  Depend  upon  it  that  is  how  this  gossip  got  about. 
Don't  you  write  to  the  Signora!  I'll  write  and  make  it  all  clear. 
I  wish  I  was  my  boy's  real  Babbo."  I  then  pointed  out  that  though 
Lady  Desprez  knew  I  had  adopted  an  Italian  child,  she  never  knew 
it  was  her  own  nephew.  She  had  left  the  matter  to  her  brother's 
executor,  and  thought  his  son  was  with  his  wife's  relations. 

"  Ma  com'  e  strano,"  said  the  Faustina,  "  di  lasciaf are  cosi !  Se 
fosse  stato  un  nipotino  mio !  " 

"You  would  have  done  differently.  But  you  are  not  a  Prot- 
estante,  Faustina!  Kemember  that  il  povero  Signore  wanted  his 
son  brought  up  a  Cristiano." 

I  wasn't  sure  I  should  not  have  to  put  a  big  lie  on  the  top  of 
all  this,  and  swear  that  Beppino's  family  had  been  rabbiatoed  by 
this  wish  for  his  son's  education,  which  they  had  found  dwelt 
upon  in  his  letters  that  I  carried  back  to  London.  But  luckily 
Faustina  was  as  wax  in  my  hands,  and  made  no  difficulties  about 
leaving  the  answer  entirely  to  me.  I  told  her  I  could  clear  it 
all  up.  But  I  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  write  to  Lossie 
again  about  it.  If  she  got  no  answer  she  would  only  conclude  the 
letter  had  never  reached.  Any  word  I  added  to  my  last  letter 
might  merely  stir  up  and  renew  what  would  otherwise  die  down 
and  be  forgotten. 

Then  in  time  came  the  terrible  letter  to  which  no  reply  was 
possible,  except  indeed  I  had  written  the  whole  truth  without 
reserve.  The  choice  I  had  to  make  was  whether  I  should  or  should 


JOSEPH   VANCE  501 

not  inflict  on  Lossie  the  knowledge  that  the  brother  she  had  cher- 
ished in  her  memory  for  years,  making  him  each  year  more  an 
idol  than  the  last,  was  a  villain;  and  that  his  boy  was  a  bastard 
— the  boy  that  she  had  almost  made  her  own;  that  this  boy  would 
like  enough  lose  his  splendid  inheritance  from  his  grandfather, 
unless  indeed  his  father's  treachery  to  his  mother  could  be  shown 
to  be  the  worst  of  all  treacheries  (almost)  that  men  of  his  type 
gain  their  end  by.  And  she  herself — the  woman  on  whom  I  should 
throw  the  burden  of  this  wrong,  who  would  have  the  task  of  telling 
Beppino's  widow  what  manner  of  thing  her  adored  husband  had 
been — was  she  not  my  Miss  Lossie? — that  same  Miss  Lossie  that 
came  upon  my  childhood  in  a  gleam  of  sunlight  that  day  long  ago 
at  Poplar  Villa — and  turned  my  youth  from  what  it  might  have 
been  to  what  it  was  ?  And  did  not  that  little  Joey  that  clung  to  he* 
skirts  grow  to  be  this  very  Beppino  ? 

No! — his  memory  should  remain  sweet  in  her  mind,  and  hi* 
wife's,  and  his  son's — aye!  both  his  sons' — for  all  that  I  would 
3ver  say  to  any  one  of  them. 

But  oh!  it  was  hard  to  think  of  the  price  at  which  her  im- 
munity from  this  nightmare  must  be  purchased.  Not  the  pric6 
to  me — that  I  would  pay  cheerfully,  and  live  through  the  rest  of 
my  time,  and  see  my  boy  launched  happily  in  life,  if  I  could. 
Janey  would  know — or  was  not  there,  in  which  case  nothing  mat- 
tered at  all!  But  poor  Lossie!  She  would  have  to  live  through 
her  days,  without  Hugh,  and  to  believe  that  her  dear  other  little 
brother  had  turned  out  foul  in  the  end — or  at  least,  if  not  foul, 
a  man  with  a  mask  on,  capable  of  a  new  love,  of  some  sort  or 
other,  almost  while  the  ink  was  wet  on  the  pen  with  which 
he  wrote  of  his  wife's  tragic  death.  Well,  it  was  better  she  should 
think  that,  than  know  the  truth.  As  for  me,  I  could  bear  it, 
and  would.  Janey  would  know  all  about  it,  except  she  was  not. 
That  would  be  all  right.  But,  poor  Lossie! 

This  that  follows  is  her  letter.  I  have  read  it  again,  for  the 
thousandth  time,  and  do  not  see  that  I  could  have  done  other  than 
I  did. 

"  VILLA  MAGONCINI,  FIESOLE,  January  16,  1881. 
"  MY  DEAR  JOE  :  I  must  write  what  I  have  to  write,  although  my 
heart  breaks  to  write  it.  Oh,  why  could  you  not  trust  me,  after 
all  the  long  years  we  have  been  brother  and  sister?  It  was  not  a 
crime  that  you  committed!  Had  you  married  another  wife  in 
Portugal,  on  your  road  back  after  Janey's  death,  it  would  have  been 
no  crime.  Had  you  done  so  and  then  come  to  me  and  said,  it 


502  JOSEPH  VANCE 

might  be  hard  for  me  to  understand,  but  that  you  would  be  hap- 
pier so — I  should  only  have  said  let  it  be  so — and  taken  your  new 
wife  to  my  heart  as  I  took  your  old.  It  would  have  been  strange! 
but  such  things  have  been,  and  will  be  again.  And  you  would 
have  been  to  me  still  my  other  little  brother — my  darling  little 
Joey's  namesake — the  little  boy  that  picked  the  pears,  and  went  up 
the  chimney.  Oh,  do  you  remember? 

"But  that  you  should  do  this  thing  and  conceal  it — conceal  it 
from  me!  For  I  have  been  your  sister,  have  I  not?  Oh,  how  my 
heart  went  out  to  you  that  dreadful  day  when  I  found  your  name 
in  the  list  of  passengers,  and  knew  that  Janey  must  be  gone.  And 
not  then  only,  but  so  often.  And  in  all  this  long  absence  in 
America,  how  I  have  thought  of  you  and  your  boy — that  I  did  not 
know  was  your  own — thought  of  you  and  prayed  for  you  and 
longed  for  your  face  again,  that  we  might  talk  of  Janey  and  Hugh 
together — for  now,  I  thought,  we  should  be  alike — in  trouble  a 
brother  and  a  sister,  as  in  our  happiness  in  the  old  days.  But  you 
could  conceal  this  that  you  did  from  me,  and  almost  deny  it;  and 
all  my  trust  in  you  that  was  so  strong — it  is  all  gone,  and  the 
young  folk  wonder  why  mamma  sits  and  cries — for  I  have  told 
them  nothing  and  shall  tell  them  nothing,  and  I  hope  Violet  will 
be  silent. 

"But  it  is  useless  for  me  to  write  on  in  this  way — useless  for 
me — useless  for  you.  If  ever  we  meet  again  in  this  world,  I  will 
be  friends,  dear  Joe,  for  the  sake  of  my  father  and  yours,  and  all 
the  long  past,  and  above  all  for  Jane/s  sake.  And  I  will  never 
dream  for  one  moment  that  this  marriage  of  yours  meant  that  you 
forgot  or  could  forget  Janey — that  I  cannot  believe!  The  most 
likely  thing  I  can  imagine  is  that  this  poor  girl  who  died,  Annun- 
ciatina  Vespucci,  loved  you,  and  the  thing  came  to  your  knowledge, 
and  that  you  married  her  in  a  sort  of  Quixotism.  But  if  so,  why 
not  have  told  me?  It  is  that  hurts  me  so. 

"  I  must,  I  suppose,  tell  you  how  I  came  to  know  of  it.  I  think 
I  wrote  to  you  that  I  had  heard  some  gossip  to  the  effect  that  Cristo- 
foro  was  your  son.  Of  course  I  disbelieved  it,  as  I  said.  But  it 
would  have  been  a  relief,  although  I  did  not  allow  myself  to  think 
so,  to  receive  a  letter  from  you  saying  plainly  who  the  boy's  father 
was,  which  you  would  have  been  surely  justified  in  doing  for  his 
own  sake  when  it  came  to  ascribing  him  to  yourself.  But  I  got  no 
letter  from  you — of  course  it's  a  long  post.  And  in  the  mean- 
while the  Seth-Pettigrews  came  back  from  the  sea,  and  I  called  and 
asked  them  what  they  knew.  Violet's  story  was  a  little  exaggerated, 
but  not  much.  They  had  plenty  to  tell  me  of  what  every  one  else 


JOSEPH   VANCE  503 

said — very  little  of  what  they  knew.  Personally  they  only  remem- 
bered going  to  Signorina  Vespucci  to  get  the  character  of  a  servant, 
and  then  saw  Cristoforo  and  were  told  he  was  the  child  of  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman  named  Giuseppe  Vance,  and  that  his  mother  had 
died  shortly  after  his  birth.  When  Violet  mentioned  your  name 
incidentally  they  asked  if  that  was  the  Mr.  Vance  who  lost  his 
wife  so  sadly.  Violet  of  course  misunderstood  this,  but  her  mis- 
take was  cleared  up  when  they  spoke  about  'your  baby'  that  they 
had  seen  up  at  Fiesole.  She  did  not  hear  anything  else  at  the 
time;  but  Mrs.  Pettigrew  said  she  knew  where  the  girl  was  whom 
they  had  gone  to  ask  about.  She  had  stayed  a  year  with  them,  and 
then  went  to  some  friends,  where  she  was  still  cameriera.  She 
was  a  very  nice  truthful  girl  and  might  be  relied  upon.  Vi  and  I 
found  her,  and  made  her  tell  us  all  she  could  recollect,  which  seemed 
quite  straightforward.  She  had  never  seen  Cristoforo's  mother, 
nor  his  father  except  once,  when  he  came  back  after  his  wife's 
death,  having  been  called  away  on  business  some  time  before  his 
baby  was  born.  She  described  you  very  closely,  so  as  to  convince 
us  she  was  speaking  truly.  But  she  could  tell  us  nothing  about 
your  wife,  and  sent  us  for  more  information  to  the  priore,  to  whom 
we  went  He  was  new  to  the  place,  but  he  referred  us  to  his  pred- 
ecessor. I  wrote  to  him  asking  him  to  tell  us  all  he  knew.  I 
need  not  write  this — you  will  know  that  he  would  be  accurate.  But 
he  gave  us  the  name  of  the  place  you  were  married  in,  saying  he 
thought  we  had  better  see  the  priore  there,  which  we  did.  We 
heard  from  him  that  he  recollected  your  wedding  quite  clearly — 
and  who  were  your  'testimone/  as  he  called  them.  He  said  they 
did  not  have  many  runaway  matches  between  forestieri  and  Italian 
girls  in  his  little  out  of  the  way  village — he  was  sure  there  was 
nothing  disreputable  about  the  business.  The  girl  had  lived  in 
the  place  for  a  fortnight  before  the  wedding  at  a  casa  of  monache, 
and  you  had  stayed  at  the  albergo.  He  gave  your  name  quite  cor- 
rectly. 

"It  all  seems  like  a  dreadful  dream.  It  must  be  what  I  sup- 
posed— the  girl  must  have  fallen  in  love  with  you,  and  threatened 
to  kill  herself,  or  something  of  that  sort.  She  was  an  Italian,  and 
their  girls  are  not  like  ours.  Do  write,  dear  Joe,  and  tell  me  it 
was  this.  It  must  have  been.  Oh,  do  write  something  that  will 
make  me  feel  happier.  It  is  all  too  terrible.  But  whatever  it 
was,  remember  all  the  past  is  with  me  still,  and  I  can  never  be 
anything  to  you  but  your  affectionate  sister 

"LossiE." 

"  P.  S.  I  have  reopened  this  to  say  that  I  wrote  to  Madame  Nis- 


504  JOSEPH   VANCE 

sim  some  time  since  —  but  had  no  answer.  So  I  suppose  the  letter 
never  reached.  What  I  wanted  was  to  spare  you  from  hearing 
more  than  you  needed,  and  so  I  asked  her  to  tell  me  what  she  knew 
without  worrying  you  about  it. 

"  Since  I  fastened  up  the  letter  I  have  been  letting  myself  hope  a 
little  —  that  you  will  be  able  to  say  something  to  make  things 
easier  to  bear.  If  you  had  only  not  concealed  —  it  would  have  been 
different.  I  wake  in  the  glorious  morning  light  here,  and  know 
before  I  wake  that  some  dark  thing  I  have  forgotten  is  waiting  to 
come  over  me  like  a  cloud.  And  the  children  ask  me  what  is  the 
,  long  letter  I  am  writing  to  Uncle  Joe,  and  I  cannot  tell  them." 


That  was  the  end.  I  saw  that  no  answer  was  possible,  and 
that  now  Lossie  Thorpe,  whom  I  had  clung  to  through  all  my 
troubles  of  boyhood  and  manhood  ;  through  her  marriage  and  mine  ; 
she  whom  the  wife  I  loved  so  dearly  loved  too,  as  I  did  —  was 
gone.  Gone  out  of  my  life  as  surely  as  Janey  herself  was  gone. 
Gone  for  ever,  except  there  be,  as  I  said  to  myself  there  needs 
must  be  (else  the  absurdity  of  it  all!),  some  life  to  come  where 
sight  is  clear  —  where  no  counter  stroke  of  Love  or  Hate,  or  speech 
misunderstood,  can  overthrow  the  structure  of  a  soul,  or  make 
the  light  of  heaven  shine  in  vain.  That  life  would  come  ;  it  might 
well  be.  But  in  the  meanwhile  I  must  tread  my  path  alone. 

For  I  saw  that  Lossie  had  shut  her  eyes  to  the  fact  that  I 
had  not  only  concealed  but  denied  the  thing  I  seemed  so  clearly 
convicted  of.  She  had  certainly  received  my  letter  of  November 
or  how  could  she  have  written  to  la  Faustina?  But  to  write  a 
challenge  to  so  plain  a  denial  of  paternity,  on  its  merits,  would 
have  left  no  loophole  for  reconciliation.  Whereas,  to  accept  it 
as  part  of  the  machinery  of  concealment  left  it  included  in  the 
blame  for  that  concealment,  and  ignored  its  seeming  a  deliberate 
lie.  Had  I  not  better  have  told  a  lie,  and  pleaded  guilty  to  what 
I  had  not  done  ?  Quite  impossible  !  I  never  could  have  sustained 
the  part. 

There  was  no  way  out  now  except  the  truth.  Oh,  for  the  right 
to  speak  the  truth,  and  get  Lossie  back!  A  coward's  thought,  in 
all  conscience!  To  get  Lossie  back,  at  the  cost  of  shifting  the 
weight  off  my  heart  onto  hers  ! 

"  No,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  if  I  die  with  the  pain  of  it,  I  will 
be  silent!  Lossie  must  think  ill  of  her  other  little  brother  for  a 
while—  just  for  the  rest  of  the  time!—  but  she  shall  never  know 
from  him  what  that  brother  of  her  own  was.  Every  pang  I  have 
to  face  in  the  days  to  come  will  be  fraught  with  its  own  word 


JOSEPH  VANCE  505 

of  solace — '  This  is  for  Lossie  ' — and  the  thought  will  be  mine  that 
she  is  spared  a  greater  sorrow  than  the  one  that  is  borne  by  me, 
that  I  do  not  shrink  from  for  her  sake." 

So,  the  letter  ended  all.  And  my  heart  died  down  as  I  thought 
of  the  days  I  had  before  me.  But  I  made  my  boy,  who  was 
the  son  of  the  cause  of  it  all,  come  to  me  and  give  me  consola- 
tion. And  I  think  if  it  had  not  been  for  Toforino's  voice,  that 
surely  was  his  mother's,  and  his  eyes  and  his  locks,  that  were 
none  of  his  father's,  as  I  could  see,  my  heart  would  have  broken 
outright.  But  I  lived  for  my  boy,  and  threw  myself  into  my 
work  and  all  its  dangers  and  excitement.  And  fifteen  years  passed, 
and  things  chanced  as  I  have  told  you  and  brought  me  here. 


CHAPTER  LIV 

THE  TALE  IS  TOLD.  A  FEW  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  FOLK  SEEN  IN  LONDON. 
OF  NOLLY,  OF  HICKMAN,  OF  PRING,  OF  LADY  TOWERSTAIRS.  AND  OF 
POOR  OLD  CAPSTICK,  IN  A  MADHOUSE!  WHEN  HE  HAS  LOOKED 
THROUGH  THE  LETTERS  AGAIN,  HE  WILL  BURN  THE  WHOLE  LOT; 


AND  now  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  story — the  story  I  set  out 
to  tell.  I  have  gone  through  my  early  life  again — the  life  I  had 
.tried  to  forget;  and  I  have  found  how  impracticable  real  oblivion 
[is,  for  each  phase  of  memory  has  revived  another.  Am  I  glad  or 
I  sorry  to  have  got  to  'finis'?  I  do  not  know;  it  has  been  both 
pleasure  and  pain.  I  will  not  write  the  word — at  least,  not  yet. 
There  are  still  some  late  letters  of  Lossie's  that  I  have  glanced  at 
enough  to  see  that  they  contain  nothing  of  great  interest.  But  a 
closer  examination  may  detect  something.  Finis  may  stand  over, 
at  least  till  I  am  packing  up  to  go  back  to  my  boy.  He  will  be 
thinking  I  am  never  coming  back — but  there! — the  time  has 
slipped  away  by  instalments.  Six  months  has  become  near  two 
years.  A  few  weeks  will  be  the  utmost  now.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
be  back. 

For  I  have  not  had  a  comfortable  two  years.  I  have  been  in  con- 
stant fear  of  meeting  some  old  friend  to  whom  I  should  have  had 
to  tell  lies  to  account  for  my  disappearance.  Nolly  in  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields  is  much  too  near;  but  then  he  lives  at  Sydenham,  and 
his  London  beat  is  almost  limited  to  the  streets  between  the  Fields 
and  the  Temple.  There  are  not  many  others  who  would  recognize 
me,  but  there  are  a  few.  For  instance,  a  very  important-looking 
gentleman  whom  I  saw  in  Walbrook.  I  could  not  think  who  it 
was  at  first;  then  I  remembered  Hickman,  my  Father's  partner. 
Had  he  seen  me  he  might  have  remembered  me.  Probably  I  should 
have  got  off  easily,  without  much  "  prequivocation."  But  how  can 
I  tell?  Then  I  was  recognized  on  a  fine  Saturday  evening  on  the 
Bridge  in  St.  James's  Park  by  a  man  who  was  drunk,  and  was 
pretending  to  be  sober.  It  was  my  old  friend  Pring,  who,  in  spite 
of  the  slightness  of  our  interview,  managed  to  keep  up  his  old  char- 
acter for  contradictiousness.  "You're  not  Mr.  Vansh,"  said  he, 

506 


JOSEPH  VANCE  507 

with  confidence.  I  said :  "  Very  well,  Pring,  just  as  you  like.  I'm 
not."  On  which  he  changed  his  ground,  and  said,  "  I  sheed  it  was 
you."  Then  he  took  umbrage  at  a  person  unknown  who  had  ques- 
tioned his  consistency,  and  became  loud  and  oratorical.  "  I  sheed 
Mr.  Vansh  minute  I  came  onsh  bridge.  Shed  show!  Heard  me 
say  it,"  and  then  asked  who  the  unknown  was,  as  well  he 
might.  He  repeated  the  question  with  asperity.  "Who  are  you 
shezidin't — liar  yourself !  "  until  I  was  obliged  to  accept  the  fiction, 
and  assure  him  that  the  unknown  was  an  inferior  person,  not  worth 
his  notice.  This  appeased  Pring,  who  then  called  him  a  some- 
thing young  haberdasher.  The  remainder  of  our  conversation 
was  conjectural,  as  to  what  Pring  said  to  me,  but  it  seemed  to 
be  an  indictment  of  Mr.  McGaskin  for  stealing  "  our  "  invention. 
"What  invention?"  said  I.  "  Shiprockater,"  said  Pring.  Oh, 
how  nearly  I  had  forgotten  the  great  Engine!  I  gave  Pring  a 
sovereign,  as  he  was  out  of  work,  and  parted  from  him  with  a 
mind  at  ease.  But  suppose  I  had  met  some  one  who  was  pre- 
tending to  be  drunk  and  was  really  sober — how  then  ? 

The  person  I  was  most  afraid  of  meeting  was  Jeannie  Mac- 
allister.  My  fear  kept  me  away  from  West  End  Streets  with  shops 
where  ladies  from  Perthshire  would  go  marketing  in  their  London 
season.  But  I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind,  in  case  the  sort  of 
thing  it  pictured  should  come  to  pass,  what  course  I  should  pursue. 
If,  for  instance,  she  should  suddenly  recognize  me  from  a  car- 
riage-full of  daughters  in  the  street,  and  call  after  me,  I  would 
not  run — not  I!  I  would  face  the  music — go  home  with  her — 
take  her,  force  her  into  my  confidence,  and  beg  her,  in  the  name 
of  her  dead  husband  and  our  old  friendship,  to  say  no  word  to 
any  living  soul.  It  would  be  the  only  chance — for  as  to  half  tell- 
ing a  tale  to  Jeannie,  or  hoodwinking  her  in  any  way — that 
wouldn't  work!  Had  Lossie  resembled  Jeannie  in  her  keen  dra- 
matic sympathy  and  insight  into  human  life,  she  would  have 
found  the  whole  story  out  long  ago.  Fancy  Jeannie  in  Florence 
with  the  clues  Lossie  had!  But  the  two  women  are  quite  unlike 
in  the  way  they  see  into  character.  Lossie  sees  and  distinguishes 
truth  and  falsehood  instantly — but  not  men's  motives  and  actions 
and  passions. 

There  is  one  person  whom  I  have  seen  once  at  a  concert,  and 
do  not  care  to  see  again.  For  though  I  met  Lady  Towerstairs 
face  to  face  in  the  lobby  going  away,  she  looked  me  in  the  eyes 
very  stonily;  and  yet  I  did  not  feel  at  all  sure  she  did 
not  know  me  quite  well.  How  I  can  imagine  her  saying  to  her 
sister:  "I  saw  your  Joe  Vance,  dear,  in  town  last  season.  He 


508  JOSEPH  VANCE 

seems  to  be  enjoying  himself  in  London.  I  thought  he  had  gone 
to  Patagonia  or  somewhere."  And  then  I  can  fancy  Lossie  try- 
ing to  get  some  more  information,  and  not  succeeding.  However, 
she  may  not  have  recognized  me,  as  to  say  the  truth  I  did  not  really 
recognize  her  by  her  appearance.  What  made  me  identify  her  was 
probably  the  beautiful  girl  I  saw  beside  her  whom  I  suppose  now 
to  have  been  her  niece,  Nolly's  daughter,  of  whose  extraordinary 
resemblance  to  her  aunt,  Lady  Desprez,  I  had  often  heard  while 
I  was  still  in  correspondence  with  the  latter  and  she  herself  was 
yet  a  child.  I  was  coming  out  through  the  entry  at  St.  James's 
Hall,  where  toffs  and  mortals  jostle  each  other  and  never  know 
it,  when  I  saw  in  a  mirror  in  front  of  me,  following  my  own  image, 
two  visions  of  beauty  whom  nature  and  art  had  done  their  best 
for,  who  seemed  to  be,  so  far  as  the  former  went,  the  Lossie  and 
Violet  that  I  saw  married  more  than  twenty-five  years  ago.  Behind 
them  was  a  palpable  mother  of  one  or  both,  and  around  them  males 
in  bondage.  I  glanced  at  the  reflected  group,  and  I  hope  did 
not  look  as  I  felt,  like  a  man  struck  dumb  with  a  sudden  incom- 
prehensible surprise.  But  the  girls'  reflections  did  look  startled, 
and  the  mother  fixed  me  with  a  look  that  either  did  not  know 
me,  or  pretended  not  to.  I  saw  that  it  was  Violet,  and  that  her 
good  looks  had  not  forsaken  her.  I  got  into  the  street  and  was 
glad. 

I  think  that  exhausts  all  my  encounters  with  early  recollections 
in  my  two  years  of  British  Museum  research  and  historical  scrib- 
bling. 

No!  Stop  a  minute!  I  had  just  one  other.  I  had  been  to 
see  a  poor  insane  fellow  at  the  Asylum  to  which  his  friends  had 
removed  him.  He  had  been  a  reader  at  the  Museum  with  whom 
I  had  had  some  acquaintance,  but  I  had  noticed  nothing  wrong 
about  him.  No  one  was  more  surprised  than  I  when  one  day  he 
went  raving  mad,  and  had  to  be  removed.  Hearing  afterwards 
that  he  had  recovered  his  reason,  but  that  he  was  not  considered 
safe  to  leave  the  Asylum,  I  went  over  to  see  him,  and  found  him 
to  all  appearance  quite  himself.  So  much  so  that  he  was  taking 
a  good  deal  of  interest  in  the  other  patients,  and  told  me  he  was 
thinking  out  a  novel,  the  events  of  which  would  take  place  entirely 
in  a  madhouse.  He  described  some  of  the  cases  he  had  seen 
that  he  meant  to  introduce — among  them  a  clergyman  who  had 
gone  stark  mad  over  predestination  and  Prevenient  Grace.  "He 
talks  to  himself  all  day  long,"  said  my  friend,  "  and  with  a  sort 
of  coherence.  He  gets  into  logical  fixes  about  the  duty  of  sin,  in 
order  that  the  Lord  shall  pardon  the  Sin  and  Grace  shall  abound. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  509 

But  then  every  right  action  is  an  opportunity  lost,  and  it  is 
obviously  sinful  to  do  it.  But  if  it  is  sinful  to  do  it,  clearly 
that  is  an  occasion  for  Grace,  and  it  is  right  to  do  it  on  that 
account.  So  it's  right  to  do  a  thing  because  it's  wrong,  and 
therefore  wrong  to  do  the  same  thing  because  it's  right." 

"  Nothing  can  be  clearer,"  said  I,  but  I  remembered  the  phrases, 
and  thought  I  should  like  to  see  any  one  who  reminded  me  of 
my  early  youth.  And  my  friend  took  me  through  the  asylum, 
where  he  seemed  to  be  under  little  restraint;  and  there,  walking 
in  the  garden,  incessantly  talking  to  himself,  over  and  over  the 
same  thing,  was  a  little,  bent  old  man  with  the  manner  of  a 
preacher.  Every  now  and  then  he  would  throw  out  his  hands 
in  a  kind  of  despair  and  then  bury  his  face  in  them,  shaking 
his  head  as  he  did  so.  And  guided  by  the  clue  given  me,  I  could 
see  that  he  was  the  Rev.  Benaiah  Capstick. 

This  going  back  into  the  past  has  been  a  very  strange  experi- 
ence. My  impression,  now  that  I  come  to  the  end  of  it,  is  that 
it  has  absorbed  me  more  than  I  had  meant  it  should.  My  idea  was 
to  make  a  summary  of  the  main  facts  of  my  early  life.  No  sooner 
had  I  taken  up  my  pen  than  I  suddenly  remembered  that  my 
Father  and  Mother  had  been  emphatic  about  that  beer.  And  that 
made  me  remember  more,  and  so  throughout  the  whole  story. 

What  shall  I  do  with  it  now  that  it  is  written?  My  feeling  is 
in  favour  of  destroying  it  But  that  seems  so  illogical!  A  more 
reasonable  course  would  be  to  make  a  parcel  of  it  and  leave  it 
for  my  boy  to  read  after  I  have  "got  free/'  as  Dr.  Thorpe  used 
to  phrase  it.  The  only  possible  reason  against  this  would  be  if 
there  was  the  legal  flaw  in  his  mother's  marriage,  and  I  have 
gathered  since  that  this  may  have  been  the  case.  But  my  nar- 
rative shows  (to  my  thinking)  that  even  if  this  was  so,  his  mother 
was  the  innocent  victim  of  diabolism  supported  by  officialism.  As 
for  the  character  of  his  father,  that  won't  trouble  Cristoforo.  In 
fact,  I  think  he  regards  his  parent  as  a  mere  meddler — an  inter- 
loper before  the  fact — just  as  my  dear  Daddy  looked  upon  C. 
Dance,  the  former  owner  of  the  celebrated  board.  I  am  Toforino's 
babbo;  and  at  the  most  Beppino's  claims  upon  him  could  only 
be  for  a  mere  civility — rather  an  officious  one,  quite  unsolicited 
by  himself.  No !  I  don't  mind  his  reading  every  word  of  it,  after 
I  am  gone. 

If  there  were  any  likelihood  of  his  getting  into  touch  with  his 
English  relatives  I  should  burn  it.  Because  then  they  too  would 
be  almost  sure  to  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  whole  thing.  If 


510  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Lossie  was  dead,  this  wouldn't  matter.  But  if  she  lives  to  her 
Aunt's  age,  there  are  still  forty  years  to  reckon  with.  However,  I 
don't  see  any  prospect  of  Toforino  coming  to  live  in  England.  He 
is  at  Harvard  now.  Had  I  wished  him  ever  to  come  to  England, 
of  course  I  should  have  sent  him  to  Oxford ;  he  would  have  shown, 
I  believe,  that  private  tuition  in  Rio  Grande  had  done  justice  to 
his  abilities.  But  I  thought  England  dangerous. 

I  have  still  a  painful  task  before  me  with  all  those  old  letters. 
It  wouldn't  do  to  burn  them  without  making  sure  of  their  con- 
tents. When  I  have  done  that,  and  arranged  about  the  publica- 
tion of  "Music  and  Mechanism,"  as  I  have  settled  to  call  my 
work,  I  will  if  possible  draw  those  other  two  games  against  Herr 
Pfleiderer,  and  bid  a  last  farewell  to  my  native  fogs. 

When  I  laid  down  my  pen  two  days  since  I  did  not  think  ever 
to  add  a  word  to  the  above.  I  find  myself  obliged  to  do  so, 
having  completely  missed  or  overlooked  a  letter  of  Lossie's.  I 
cannot  the  least  account  for  my  having  done  so.  Need  I  account 
for  it?  The  fact  remains,  and  the  letter  remains.  How  I  felt 
on  reading  it  may  be  imagined — if  any  one  ever  reads  it.  If  it 
be  you,  Cristoforo,  that  reads,  I  ask  you  to  pardon  me  that  I 
have  not  copied  it  out,  as  I  did  previous  letters.  It  must  remain 
in  the  parcel,  to  be  lost,  forgotten,  recovered,  just  as  may  be,  when 
I  am  lost  to  the  material  world;  forgotten  by  those  I  knew  on  it; 
recovered,  it  may  be,  by  a  wife  that  awaits  me. 

It  is  a  letter  written  immediately  after  her  final  letter  to  me, 
and  it  must  have  reached  my  sister-in-law  in  her  last  illness.  It 
is  even  possible  that  she  never  read  it,  and  was  spared  the  pain 
of  knowing  (or  rather  believing)  me  capable  of  forgetting  her 
sister  in  less  than  a  year,  and  consoling  myself  for  her  loss  with 
an  act  of  treachery  to  another  woman.  It  does  not  matter,  it  is 
all  done  and  over  now,  fifteen,  twenty  years  ago!  Here  is  the 
letter: 

"VILLA  MAGONCINI,  FIESOLE,  12  February,  1881. 
"  MY  DEAREST  SARRY  :  I  am  quite  broken-hearted  over  a  big  trou- 
ble, and  you  will  have  to  share  it  and  be  heart-broken  too.  Be- 
cause it's  Janey's  husband — my  dear  other  little  brother  that  was — 
and  I  can  hardly  help  calling  him  dear  still,  for  all  this  night- 
mare that  has  come  upon  us.  It  is  a  nightmare!  the  thought 
that  all  that  time  when  we  were  in  London  and  it  was  such  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  see  what  friends  he  and  my  darling  Hugh 
had  become — all  that  time  that  he  seemed  to  be  bearing 


JOSEPH  VANCE  511 

his  loss  so  bravely,  and  used  to  talk  of  all  Papa's  ideas,  and 
his  own  great  hope  of  seeing  Janey  again — that  all  that  very 
time  he  was  married  to  an  Italian  wife!!  whom  he  had  left  to 
herself  after  a  few  weeks  of  marriage,  expecting  a  baby — this  boy 
Cristoforo,  whom  he  pretended  to  '  adopt '  after  her  death.  I  can- 
not quite  make  out  how  long  it  was  before  he  deserted  her  in  this 
way,  because  it  comes  down  to  a  matter  of  memory  in  which  I  have 
no  one  to  help  me  but  the  children — but  it  must  have  been  very 
soon.  Violet  believes,  or  says  she  believes,  that  the  marriage  was 
an  invalid  one,  and  either  that  the  girl  was  entrapped  into  it,  or 
that  both  knew  the  ceremony  was  a  farce,  and  went  through  it  to 
save  their  faces.  Because  it  seems  that  in  Italy  girls  are  con* 
stantly  married  in  churches  and  disowned  because  there  has  not 
been  a  municipio  celebration  also.  It  seems  incredible  that  a  con- 
tract accepted  by  a  girl  (who  is  in  earnest),  because  she  believes 
the  man  in  earnest,  should  be  disallowed  by  the  state  on  so  shallow 
a  pretext — but  there!  in  this  marriage  business  the  weaker  party 
seems  always  to  be  made  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy  of  fools  and 
devils.  However,  I  can't  believe  it  was  this,  whatever  Violet  maj 
say.  My  own  belief  is  the  girl  fell  in  love  with  him  and  told  him 
so,  and  he  married  her  from  Quixotism.  But  why  did  he  not  tett 
me?  and  why  did  he  deny  it  when  I  wrote  first  to  him? 

"  But  I  am  running  wild  in  my  letter  and  not  telling  you  the 
story  itself,  dear!  I  will  make  amends  by  writing  it  out  long,  as 
we  used  when  we  were  schoolgirls.  My  letters  lately  have  got 
shorter  and  shorter.  I've  been  so  sorry — but  couldn't  help  it ! ! 

"  You  know  how  in  the  year  after  Janey's  death,  in  the  autumn, 
Joe  Vance  and  my  dear  Beppino  came  to  Italy.  I  can't  fix  dates 
at  this  length  of  time,  but  I  know  they  parted  at  Milan,  and  Bep- 
pino went  travelling  about.  I  don't  know  where  Joe  Vance  went — 
but  there  are  several  people  in  Florence  who  remember  that  the 
Signore  Giuseppe  Vance  was  here  at  that  time,  though  they  don't 
agree  in  their  description  of  him.  At  the  Hotel  Minerva  there  is 
some  story  (which  I  am  sure  is  nonsense)  about  his  wanting  to 
be  called  by  another  name  than  the  one  painted  on  his  boxes. 
Violet  will  believe  anything  against  Joe — so  she  pretends  to  be- 
lieve this.  The  only  thing  I  can  make  sure  of  is  that  he  was  here 
sometime — and  I  must  be  mistaken  in  my  recollection  of  how 
soon  he  came  back  to  London.  Things  have  been  very  misty  in 
my  memory  since  my  darling  Hugh  was  taken  from  me. 

"I  think  I'm  right  though  that  I  wrote  to  you  at  the  time  all 
about  how  Joe  came  back  from  his  second  visit  to  Italy,  after  my 
dear  Beppino  died,  and  told  me  he  had  adopted  an  Italian  baby, 


512  JOSEPH  VANCE 

both  of  whose  parents  were  dead,  because  the  child  had  the  name 
of  Cristoforo  (old  Mr.  Vance  was  Christopher)  and  he  '  seemed  in 
want  of  a  caretaker.'  Oh,  how  incredible  it  all  seems!  But  you 
will  hear.  After  that  we  bought  the  Sorrento  Villa,  and  for  two 
years  never  really  made  a  stay  in  Florence — only  had  a  flying 
visit  or  two,  and  just  saw  sights — so  I  had  no  chance  to  hunt  out 
this  baby,  as  I  should  have  done  had  there  been  time.  Then  Joe 
sent  for  it  out  to  Brazil,  and  when  he  did  this  I  began  to  fear  he 
would  end  by  remaining  there.  And  so  he  has — for  the  six  months 
it  was  to  be  at  first  has  got  lengthened  out  and  lengthened  out.  But 
he  has  constantly  written  about  the  boy,  telling  of  his  beauty  and 
cleverness  (for  we  have  been  constantly  writing),  and  then  that 
he  had  entered  on  some  new  work  that  would  detain  him  another 
six  months — and  so  on.  I  do  not  believe  that  what  I  have  to  tell 
you  had  any  share  in  producing  these  delays.  He  had  always 
talked  so  freely  of  his  adopted  son,  that  I  cannot  see  that  he 
could  have  had  any  object  in  remaining  out,  except  what  he  said. 
Had  he  wanted  to  conceal  him — however,  it  is  no  use  speculating. 
I  will  tell  you  just  what  has  happened. 

"Until  we  came  here  I  had  never  heard  a  hint  or  suggestion 
that  this  boy  Cristoforo  was  Joe's  own  son.  When  Violet  and  her 
husband  came  out  to  us  at  vintage-time  last  year,  she  heard  some 
gossip  to  that  effect  which  she  thought  she  was  bound  to  repeat  to 
me.  I  suppose  she  was.  Anyhow,  she  repeated  it — rather  mali- 
ciously, I  thought — but  you  know  Vi!  I  resented  the  idea  as  im- 
possible, pointing  out  that  the  child  was  born  in  Fiesole  (I  remem- 
ber when  Joe  came  out)  not  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  after 
Janey's  death — less,  I  think.  The  whole  thing  seemed  perfectly 
ridiculous.  Recollecting  as  I  did  how  broken-down  my  poor  boy 
(for  I  can't  help  thinking  and  writing  of  him  so)  seemed  when 
he  came  home  alone  after  that  terrible  catastrophe,  I  got  very 
angry  with  Vi,  reproached  her  for  listening  to  tattle,  and  for  being 
unfeeling  in  passing  such  rubbish  on  to  me. 

" '  Very  well,  dear ! '  said  she — and  you  know  her  irritating  way 
of  saying  near  instead  of  dear  when  she's  patronizing — '  Very  well, 
near  I  If  you're  going  to  make  a  scene  about  it,  have  it  your  own 
way  I  /  won't  say  anything.  I  merely  repeated  to  you  what  people 
were  saying.  If  you  like  these  things  to  be  said,  and  know  noth- 
ing about  them,  by  all  means  do  so.  I  know  nothing  about  your 
Joe  Vance  and  never  did,  and  don't  want  my  head  snapped  off 
about  him.'  And  then  she  went  to  sit  in  the  loggia,  and  left  me 
crying,  and  then  when  I  went  out  and  begged  her  pardon  for  call- 
ing her  unfeeling  and  kissed  her,  she  refused  at  first  to  tell  me 


JOSEPH  VANCE  513 

any  more,  saying  it  was  no  concern  of  hers,  and  she  didn't  want 
to  be  mixed  up  in  other  people's  affairs,  and  always  made  a  point  of 
keeping  out  of  them.  But  she  had  made  an  exception  this  once, 
for  my  sake,  and  paid  the  penalty.  No!  she  didn't  want  to  talk 
any  more  about  it,  and  I  couldn't  expect  her  to.  However,  I  knew 
she  would  if  I  let  her  alone,  and  she  did. 

" '  I  suppose,  dear/  said  she,  half -an-hour  after,  '  you  think  Con- 
stantia  Seth-Pettigrew  an  untruthful  person.  But  she  isn't,  for 
one  thing;  and  for  another  it  doesn't  matter  whether  she  is  or 
isn't.  It's  not  what  SHE  says,  but  what  every  one  says.  Of  course 
she  was  living  up  at  Fiesole  at  the  time,  so  she  couldn't  very  well 
be  mistaken.'  I  asked  what  time,  and  she  answered  very  pat, 
'  November,  seventy-three,  if  you  want  to  know,'  as  if  she  had  got 
the  whole  particulars.  And  she  went  on  to  say  that  'My  Joe 
Vance  and  his  wife,  or  whatever  he  called  her,'  were  up  there,  and 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seth-Pettigrew  had  seen  them  about  a  servant. 
'  Of  course  they  thought  they  were  married,'  she  added.  ( If  they 
hadn't  Constantia  would  have  asked  for  a  written  character  for 
the  girl.' 

"  I  am  giving  more  details  than  I  need,  or  you  will  think  so.  Of 
course  Mrs.  Seth-Pettigrew's  convulsive  purity  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  matter — however,  I  had  better  go  straight  on.  I  couldn't 
recall  the  time  clearly  enough  to  find  flaws  in  Violet's  story.  But 
I  thought  Joe  (if  it  was  Joe)  must  have  had  a  very  short  allowance 
of  his  wife  '  or  whatever  she  was ' ;  and  I  said  something  to  this 
effect. 

" '  You  don't  understand  men,  Lossie  dear/  said  Violet,  with 
equable  superciliousness  and  the  nasal  tone.  *  Women  that  marry 
model  husbands  never  do.  Men  don't  want  a  very  long  allowance. 
When  I  say  men,  I  mean  men;  I  don't  mean  Angels.' 

"  When  Vi  talks  like  this  it  always  makes  me  feel  ill.  I  tried 
to  keep  my  temper  with  her. 

"'You  mean  you  think  I  thought  my  dear  husband  an  Angel. 
I  think  I  did,  almost.  But  I  thought  Joe  a  very,  very  good  man; 
without  being  an  Angel,  quite  good  enough  for  this  story  to  be  a 
ridiculous  falsehood/ 

" '  Very  well,  dear !  just  as  you  please.  You  can  ask  Constantia 
yourself.  Only  I  hope  you  won't  go  with  a  solemn  face  looking 
as  if  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  your  mouth,  and  talk  as  if  it  was 
an  awful  sin  for  a  man  to  have  a  liaison,  because  it's  only  what 
happens  every  day  in  our  class;  and  you'll  frighten  Constantia 
and  put  her  off  telling  you  if  you  shed  tears  and  make  scenes/ 

" '  Violet/  I  said,  '  I  don't  mean  to  let  you  make  me  angry. 


514  JOSEPH  VANCE 

You  know  perfectly  well  that  what  I  should  think  so  shocking  in 
this,  if  it  were  true  (which  I  don't  believe),  wouldn't  be  the  im- 
morality— goodness  knows  one  sees  plenty  of  that  in  India!  But 
it's  following  so  quick  on  such  a  terrible  loss — and  above  all  his 
concealing  it  from  me.  Remember  how  I  loved  and  trusted  him, 
all  our  lives,  and  believed  in  his  affection  for  Janey — and  then 
that  he  should  be  able  to  love  this  girl.' 

" '  My  dear  Loss/  said  Violet,  in  her  most  offensive  manner, 
'  you  really  are  a  downright  primrose !  And  after  all  your  Indian 
experience!  As  if  Love  and  Affection  had  anything  to  do  with 
one  another ! '  I  did  not  answer. 

"  I  wrote  at  once  to  Joe  at  Rio  Grande  repeating  the  story,  but 
making  as  light  as  I  could  of  it.  .  .  .  * 

"  Violet  says  this  answer  of  Joe's  is  evasive,  and  is  worded  so  as 
to  leave  it  open  to  him  to  say  he  never  denied  it  outright.  I  think 
otherwise.  If  Joe  wanted  to  produce  a  false  impression  he  would 
tell  an  honest  lie,  without  shuffling.  I  took  it  to  be  an  absolute 
denial. 

"  I  did  not  write  to  Joe  again  immediately.  I  wrote  to  Signora 
Nissim  on  the  chance  of  her  getting  a  letter  directed  to  Rio  Grande 
(only  with  no  other  address),  asking  her  to  tell  me  all  she  knew, 
but  say  nothing  to  Joe,  as  it  would  annoy  him,  if  she  could  do  with- 
out speaking  to  him.  I  have  got  no  answer  to  this  letter  at  all. 
But  I  could  not  have  had  one,  in  any  case,  before  my  next  letter  to 
Joe. 

"As  soon  as  Mrs.  Seth-Pettigrew  came  home  we  called  to  see 
her,  and  I  found  she  seemed  to  know  much  less  about  the  matter 
than  Violet  had  made  out.  But  she  suggested  that  we  should  get 
at  Maria  Zini,  the  girl  who  had  been  a  servant  in  the  house  Joe 
and  this  girl  appear  to  have  occupied  at  Fiesole.  She  kindly  found 
her,  and  sent  her  to  us.  I  will  write  exactly  our  interview,  and 
you  shall  judge  for  yourself.  After  thanking  her  for  coming,  I 
said  I  wanted  her  to  tell  me  all  she  could  remember  of  the  Signore 
Giuseppe  Vance  when  they  were  together.  *  Mai  ho  visto  loro  in- 
sieme,'  said  she — but  perhaps  I  had  better  translate  her  for  you. 
'  I  never  saw  them  together.  I  was  only  there  a  few  days  before 
the  Signore  came  back,  after  the  Signora's  death — a  long  time,  and 
I  was  licenziata  (dismissed)  next  day  after  that  for  breaking  two 
coffee  cups.  I  would  have  paid  for  them  myself,  but  the  Signorina 
Vespucci  was  rabliata  (enraged).' 

*  What  follows  is  merely  Lady  Desprez's  letter  on  page  497,  with  Mr.  Vance's 
reply  on  pane  499.— ED. 


JOSEPH  VANCE  515 

"  7. — '  But  you  saw  the  Signore  Vance  when  he  returned  ? ' 

«  ghe, — <  Sicuro !  he  stayed  to  pranzo,  and  the  priore  was  there — 
they  talked  about  the  child — the  Signore  said  it  was  molto  carino.' 

"  Vi. — '  Can't  she  remember  anything  they  said  at  dinner  ? '  for 
Violet  couldn't  speak  much  Italian  and  I  had  to  interpret. 

"She. — *I  can't  remember  much  at  dinner — I  had  to  give  my 
attention  to  the  servizio.  But  when  the  Signore  went  away — he 
had  the  baby  in  his  arms,  kissing  it:  he  said:  "Remember,  dear 
Signorina,  I  will  do  my  duty  as  a  father  to  Cristof oro :  and  though 
the  name  of  his  grandfather  was  chosen  for  him  without  consult- 
ing me,  I  am  ben  contento  that  he  should  bear  it.  Because  I  was 
very  fond  of  my  Father."  But  just  then  I  turned  the  vassoio  a 
little  to  one  side  and  the  coffee  cups  slipped  and  the  Signorina  was 
rabbiata.  It  was  only  quattro  soldi ' 

"  Vi. — '  Show  her  Joe  Vance's  portrait.  Where's  the  photo- 
graph album  ? ' 

"7. — 'Is  that  like  the  Signore?'  It  was  the  last  portrait  of 
Joe,  in  a  uniform  of  some  corps  he  belongs  to. 

"  She. — '  I  couldn't  say  for  certain.  It  looks  older  and  darker. 
Besides,  the  Signore  was  dressed  borghese.'  That  is  to  say,  in 
mufti. 

"7. — 'Is  this  one  like  him?'  I  pointed  to  a  photo  of  Nolly, 
alongside  one  of  Joe,  taken  six  years  ago  in  London. 

"  She. — '  Not  the  least !  But  that  one  is  preciso,  preciso ! ' 
pointing  to  Joe's. 

"  Vi. — '  I  hope  you're  convinced  now,  Lossie  dear ! ' 

"  I  am  afraid  I  was  convinced.  But  I  was  determined  to  leave 
no  stone  unturned  before  writing  again  to  Joe.  So  I  sought  out 
the  priore,  only  unluckily  he  was  not  the  same.  The  priore  Gri- 
maldi,  his  predecessor,  had  gone  to  Sardinia,  to  a  very  out-of-the- 
way  place.  But  he  could  write  any  enquiry.  I  asked  him  to 
find  from  Padre  Grimaldi  what  he  could,  but  specially  the  name  of 
the  wife  and  when  the  marriage  took  place.  In  course  of  a  fort- 
night we  heard  that  the  marriage  had  been  at  Gualdo  Tadino  near 
Foligno.  The  other  information  only  confirmed  what  we  already 
knew. 

"  I  was  very  unwell  when  this  came.  I  had  had  a  slight  attack 
of  pleurisy,  resulting  from  a  chill,  and  the  doctors  said  I  should 
kill  myself  if  I  went  out  in  the  cold  wind  and  hot  sun.  But  I 
fidgeted  so  to  hear  more  about  this  marriage  at  Gualdo  Tadino 
(for  the  letter  said  the  priore  there  would  be  sure  to  remember  it 
—he  was  there  at  the  time)  that  Vi,  who  is  always  good-natured 
about  doing  anything  (though  she  has  her  faults)  offered  to  go 


516  JOSEPH  VANCE 

over  to  Gualdo  to  see  him  and  hear  what  she  could.  She  did  this, 
and  he  remembered  the  affair  perfectly.  To  confirm  his  words  he 
showed  Vi  the  register  of  marriages  in  the  Church,  and  there  was 
no  possible  doubt  about  it — Giuseppe  Vance  and  Annunciatina 
Vespucci — November  9,  1873.  And  he  also  showed  her  a  letter 
he  had  from  Joe  Vance  about  some  matter  relating  to  the  wedding. 
"  You  may  fancy,  dear  Sarry,  how  ill  and  nervous  I  was  when 
they  came  back,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  disbelieved  Vi  when  she 
told  me  this,  and  said  so.  I  had  got  all  together  over-excited 
and  feverish.  Vi  only  said,  '  Well — you  can  ask  Dick — he  was 
there  too.'  And  she  called  him  up  to  my  room.  '  You  saw  the 
books  with  the  entries,  Dick  ? '  said  she.  '  Oh,  yes/  said  he,  '  I 
saw  the  books  fast  enough/  And  then  Vi  hustled  him  out  of 
the  room  because  he  smelt  of  smoke.  And  I  had  the  fidgets  for 
hours  because  he  didn't  absolutely  say,  he  had  read  the  entries  or 
seen  the  letter.  But  I  saw  when  I  came  to  myself,  that  there  was 
no  loophole  to  get  out  at.  For  there  could  be  no  other  Joseph 
Vance "  * 

*  The  remainder  of  the  letter  has  no  interest  in  connection  with  Mr.  Vance's 
narrative. 


nuns 


NOTE  BY  THE  EDITOR 

THE  bulky  MS.  of  which  the  foregoing  forms  part  came  into  the 

possession  of  Mr.  F of  Kensington  under  the  circumstances 

which  he  describes  in  the  following  letter: 

23  Dec.,  1900. 

"DEAR  SIRS:  The  MS.  (which  I  forward  to-day)  is  no  doubt 
much  too  bulky  to  publish  as  it  stands,  but  of  course  you  have 
carte-Blanche  to  use  it  as  you  like.  So  long  as  I  can  recoup  my- 
self for  the  expense  and  trouble  I  have  had  I  shall  be  satisfied. 

"It  is  in  my  possession  owing  to  a  mere  accident,  and  I  think 
I  have  hunted  about  for  the  owner  quite  enough  to  justify  my 
selling  it  to  pay  expenses.  It  was  through  my  happening  to  notice 
a  fragment  of  a  letter  to  one  J.  Vance  Esq.,  that  had  been  used 
to  wrap  up  a  piece  of  dry  bread  I  had  bought  for  drawing,  on 
my  way  to  my  Studio.  It  struck  me  as  well  as  my  wife,  to  whom 
I  showed  it,  that  it  was  one  the  receiver  would  probably  have  de- 
stroyed or  kept — certainly  not  one  he  would  have  wished  to  lie 
about.  I  showed  it  to  the  woman  at  the  Baker's  shop,  and  she 
agreed  that  this  was  so.  She  remembered  that  a  former  servant 
had  spoken  of  Mr.  Joseph  Vance,  whom  she  waited  on  in  his 
chambers  at  her  last  place.  It  was  near  Kussell  Square;  she  had 
forgotten  the  address.  I  asked  her  to  enquire  and  let  me  know ; — 
she  said  she  could  probably  find  the  girl  again.  I  called  a  few 
days  after,  and  she  had  found  it  out. 

"  It  was  at  .  .  .  .,  but  should  you  print  this  letter  I  will  ask 
you  to  omit  it,  as  annoyance  might  be  caused. 

"I  called  at  the  address  with  my  wife,  expecting  to  find  Mr. 
Joseph  Vance,  but  he  had  left  two  years  ago.  The  landlady  of  the 
house  (which  is  let  in  chambers)  was  very  disobliging  and  ill- 
tempered,  almost  refusing  to  answer  questions.  But  we  got  from 
her  this  much,  that  Mr.  Vance  had  lived  in  the  house  between 
two  and  three  years;  that  he  wrote  a  good  deal;  might  have  been 
any  age;  took  the  rooms  with  attendance,  and  the  young  person, 
whom  she  called  a  'young  slut/  could  tell  us  a  great  deal  more 
about  him  than  she  herself  could,  as  she  waited  on  him  every  day. 
However,  she  became  a  little  more  communicative  when  she  remem- 

517 


518  NOTE  BY  THE  EDITOR 

bered  a  grievance  she  had  against  Mr.  Vance.  She  had  asked  him 
not  to  burn  papers  in  the  clean  black-leaded  grates,  and  he  had 
begged  leave  to  do  so  in  the  kitchen.  A  big  parcel  he  put  on  the 
fire  had  flared  up  and  set  the  kitchen  chimney  on  fire,  and  she  had 
to  pay  a  fine,  as  it  had  not  been  swept.  She  was  very  angry  with 
Mr.  Vance  about  this;  admitting,  however,  that  Mr.  Vance's  sister 
had  spoken  civil  about  it  when  she  came,  and  that  all  her  ex- 
penses had  been  paid.  We  asked  whether  no  address  had  been 
left  and  she  said  there  was  a  foreign  address,  but  she  had  lost  it. 
When  they  went  away  Mr.  Vance's  sister  said  something  about 
Italy.  Our  informant  refused  to  take  charge  of  any  letters  for 
Mr.  Vance — in  fact,  was  very  unaccommodating. 

"  We  tried  to  find  the  '  young  slut,'  but  were  unfortunate  also 
in  this.  In  the  short  interim  between  our  enquiries  she  had  left 
the  place  she  was  in  and  apparently  disappeared  altogether.  It 
was  supposed  she  had  got  employment  at  a  theatre. 

"  About  six  months  after  this  I  was  in  want  of  a  model  with  a 
good  pair  of  arms,  and  one  was  sent  to  me  by  my  friend  .  .  . 
Her  arms  were  very  fine,  and  I  had  a  great  many  sittings.  She  of 
course  talked  incessantly  in  the  silly  way  models  have,  and  I  only 
threw  in  a  word  or  two  now  and  then.  I  occasionally  listened, 
when  the  stories  she  told  grew  extra  silly,  in  order  to  amuse  my 
wife  with  them.  One  such  story  was  to  the  effect  that  she  had  been 
a  sort  of  lady-help  once  in  a  house  where  there  was  an  author. 
This  gentleman  had  made  a  big  parcel  of  a  lot  of  '  littery  rubbish ' 
and  she  had  taken  this  rubbish  out  of  the  parcel,  substituting  the 
same  bulk  of  paper.  I  asked  her  motive  for  doing  this,  and  she 
gave  me  the  very  unsatisfactory  reason  that  she  did  it  to  see  what 
an  old  Cure  the  writer  would  look  when  he  found  the  Daily  Tele- 
graft  folded  close  instead  of  his  precious  rubbish.  Of  course  she 
meant  to  give  it  back.  'It  was/  she  said,  'all  along  of  the  old 
Cure  himself  she  didn't/  It  seemed  that  he,  shortly  before  leav- 
ing the  house  '  where  he  had  been  staying/  had  put  the  parcel  con- 
taining (as  he  supposed)  his  writings  on  the  kitchen  fire  '  not  to 
mess  the  clean  grates  in  the  sitting-rooms.'  Then  she  couldn't 
'  find  the  cheek '  to  tell  him  of  the  trick  she  had  intended,  before  he 
went  away  with  his  sister. 

"  It  was  odd  that  I  did  not  at  once  recognize  the  story.  I  was 
perhaps  thrown  off  my  guard  by  the  image  of  the  '  lady-help '  and 
the  gentleman  who  '  stayed  in  the  house ' — a  different  entourage. 
When  I  repeated  the  tale  to  my  wife  she  at  once  said :  '  Why,  what 
a  goose  you  are !  Of  course  your  model  is  the  "  young  slut." '  Of 
course  she  was,  and  I  should  never  have  found  it  out! 


NOTE  BY  THE  EDITOR  519 

"  I  thought  it  much  better  that  the  papers,  whatever  they  were, 
should  be  in  my  keeping  than  the  young  woman's.  So  I  offered  to 
purchase  the  MS.  of  her,  and  after  seeing  it  thought  I  might 
speculate  to  the  extent  of  two  pounds,  which  she  accepted.  As 

Messrs have  kindly  offered  to  cover  this  expense  and 

others  incurred  in  advertising,  and  have  undertaken  all  responsi- 
bilities in  case  it  turns  out  a  genuine  narrative,  containing  names 
of  living  people,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  leaving  it  in  their  hands. 
I  think  I  may,  however,  fairly  ask  for  a  presentation  copy  in  case 
of  publication.  I  am,  dear  Sir, 

"Yours,  etc. 

"I  enclose  the  address  of  Miss  Constantine  the  model,  should 
you  desire  further  information  from  her." 

Having  undertaken  to  prepare  this  MS.  for  the  Press,  after 
necessary  curtailment,  I  decided  to  find  out  "Miss  Constantine," 
whom  I  recognized  as  the  "Betsy  Austin"  of  the  narrative,  and 
to  get  her  to  tell  me  more  of  Mr.  Vance,  as  there  was  no  doubt 
she  could  do.  In  this  I  was  not  mistaken.  She  became  very  com- 
municative, and  the  following  is,  in  a  condensed  form,  what  she 
told  me  in  one  or  two  interviews. 

She  had  attended  on  or  "  done  for  "  Mr.  Vance  during  the  whole 
of  his  stay  on  "  Skinnerses  first  floor."  He  was  a  quiet  sort 
of  oldish  gentleman,  who  conducted  himself  which  a  many  didn't. 
He  was  particular,  "  but  so  might  you  have  been,"  about  his  bath- 
water and  emptyin'  regular.  Used  to  go  for  walks  after  dark. 
Always  gave  money  to  organs  if  Italian  and  Piedmonteses  with 
guinea-pigs  that  died  when  instructed  to  it.  Very  fond  of  chess 
and  used  to  have  a  German  round  to  play  and  often  three  in  the 
morning  in  consequence.  She  had  taken  notes  to  the  German 
often  and  often,  and  was  sure  of  his  name  and  address,  which 
she  gave.  She  quite  admitted  she  did  wrong  in  abstracting  the 
MS.,  but  it  was  only  a  practical  joke  in  the  way  of  describing  it, 
and  not  intended  to  convey  malice.  What  was  his  sister  like? 
Like  him?  No,  not  a  bit — a  handsome  old  lady — not  so  very  old, 
neither.  A  lock  of  gray  hair — grayish  hair — loose  on  her  forehead. 
Came  in  a  hansom  the  first  time — next  in  a  carriage.  She  showed 
her  up  the  first  time — she  drove  up  to  the  next  house  and  knocked 
and  rang,  "  and  I  was  out  in  front  and  heard  her  ask  for  Mr.  Vance. 
So  says  I  he  lives  here — first  floor.  Should  I  take  her  card  up  ? " 
"  Oh  no,"  says  she,  "  Mr.  Vance's  sister,"  and  she  just  passed  me  by 
introducively,  and  says,  "  Show  me  his  door."  I  told  her  him  and 
Mr.  Pfleiderer  was  a-playing  chess;  and  she  says  "Never  mind," 


520  NOTE  BY  THE  EDITOR 

and  goes  straight  in.  What  did  she  say  exactly?  I'll  tell  you. 
She  said  never  a  word,  but  stood  giving  little  gasps  like  as  if  the 
words  wouldn't  come.  Herr  Pfleiderer  he  didn't  hear  her — he'd 
his  back  to  her,  and  he  sat  looking  at  the  Prawns  and  Rooks — 
rubbishin'  nonsense — for  grown  men  to  sit  playin'  at.  What  did 
Mr.  Vance  say  ?  I'll  tell  you.  He  started  up  and  called  out  some- 
thing I  failed  to  notice,  and  Herr  Pfleiderer  he  looks  up  and  says, 
"  No — you  have  a  goot  game — but  I  shall  give  you  a  check  at 
Queen  Square."  Then  Mr.  Vance  came  running  round  to  the  lady, 
just  in  time  to  catch  her.  Oh  yes,  she'd  very  nearly  fell !  and  she'd 
seemed  that  strong  too,  coming  up  the  stairs.  And  the  Herr  he 
says  "  Harsharsh — vat  is  dat  ? "  Then  Mr.  Vance  says  quite  self- 
contained  like,  "  We'll  finish  our  game  another  time,  Pfleiderer.  It's 
my  sister."  And  the  Herr  he  says,  "  I  will  take  my  leaf." 

There  was  a  little  hesitation  in  Miss  Constantine's  manner  at 
this  point  of  the  story,  due  to  her  reluctance  to  admit  that  after 
seeing  Mr.  Pfleiderer  out  she  had  returned  and  listened  at  the  key- 
hole. When  once  she  had  yielded  the  point  she  became  communi- 
cative again,  and  even  infused  a  certain  amount  of  dramatic  force 
into  her  narrative  of  what  she  heard,  as  she  warmed  to  her 
subject. 

"  She  was  a-crying !  "  said  she.  "  Oh,  cryin'  she  was !  And  it 
was  *  Oh,  my  dear  Joe — my  poor  Joe — Oh,  to  think  of  it !  All 
these  years — these  years/  And  there  was  Mr.  Vance — crying? — 
Oh  no,  he  wasn't  crying — you  could  hear  he  wasn't — only  when 
he  spoke  it  was  just  as  good!  Only  not  giving  away.  He  wasn't 
that  sort.  He  held  to,  and  kep'  it  in.  But  cried  she  did!  no 
mistake." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Vance  say  ? " 

" '  It  was  for  you,  dear  love,  it  was  for  you.'  That's  what  he 
kept  on  saying.  '  How  could  I  bear  for  you  to  know  about  poor 
little  Becky/  I  think  it  was  Becky  he  said.  Then  she  cried  more. 
Then  they  went  down  quieter,  and  he  says,  '  How  came  you  to  find 
out  ? '  And  she  says,  '  In  Hugh's  old  satchel — we  opened  the  lin- 
ing.' And  Mr.  Vance  he  says,  '  My  God ! '  and  then  old  Skinner 
comes  screeching  up  the  stairs  for  me,  and  I  had  to  go,  and  that 
was  all  I  heard.  I  showed  the  lady  out  later,  and  the  hansom  had 
stood  there  all  the  while,  and  it  must  have  mounted  up.  The  lady 
she  looked  quieter,  and  said  drive  to  Mivart's.  Oh  yes,  Mr.  Vance 
he  came  down  too  and  said  he  ought  to  go  with  her,  and  she  said 
nonsense  I 

"Next  day  Mr.  Vance  he  gave  notice, — he  had  it  by  the  three 
months — any  quarter  day ;  and  Skinner  had  correspondin'  bad  tern- 


NOTE  BY  THE  EDITOR  521 

per.  And  it  was  then  she  caught  him  up  short  for  going  to  throw 
a  burning  letter  in  the  clean  grate.  So  Mr.  Vance  he  says,  '  Now, 
Mrs.  Skinner,  suppose  you  be  an  amiable  party  and  let  me  burn 
all  my  rubbish  in  your  kitchener.  It  '11  go  twiced  as  quick/  And 
she  agreed,  being  smoothed  over  like.  And  then  Mr.  Vance  he  gets 
out  the  bundle  with  the  old  paper  on  it,  and  wrote  on  'An  Ill- 
written  Autobiography ' — but  with  nothing  in  it  but  so  much  Daily 
Telegraft — and  brings  it  down  and  shoves  it  under  the  lid  of  the 
kitchener,  there  being  no  roasting  and  it  wouldn't  burn,  not  till 
the  string  broke, — then  Skinner  she  stirred  the  poker  in  through 
the  front  bars,  and  flittered  the  leaves  about.  And  it  made  a  big 
blaze  and  set  the  sut  alight  in  the  flue,  and  the  engines  came. 
But  it  was  Skinners's  own  fault.  What  did  Mr.  Vance  say  ?  '  Catch 
hold  of  the  rug,  Betsy  Austin.'  And  him  and  me  held  it  acrost 
for  to  stop  the  drarve.  And  Skinner  she  stood  and  used  many 
expressions  till  the  Engines  knocked  and  she  went  upstairs  for 
to  deny  'em.  But  their  helmets  carried  that  weight  that  Skin- 
ner she  was  demolished  like,  and  gave  in." 

Miss  Constantine  meant  to  have  her  talk  out  about  the  fire, 
and  had  it.  I  thought  it  best  to  allow  it,  but  I  need  not  print 
the  whole.  I  may  mention,  however,  that  Mr.  Vance  recognized 
the  head  fireman  as  having  been  in  his  service  more  than  twenty 
years  before.  This  exasperated  Mrs.  Skinner,  as  it  led  to  Mr.  Vance 
taking  him  up  into  his  room,  and  talking  to  him  for  some  time, 
and  keeping  the  engine  in  attendance,  "  and  boys  climbing  up  the 
area  railings."  Miss  C.  having  exhausted  this  story,  went  on  to 
the  second  visit  of  Mr.  Vance's  sister,  admitting  that  when  she 
showed  her  in,  she  promptly  listened  at  the  keyhole,  as  before. 

"  Skinner  was  out,  and  Upstairs  was  typewriting  audible.  Leav- 
ing off  would  have  been  notice,  and  I  should  have  heard  the  street 
door.  What  did  I  hear  them  say?  Nothing  at  first.  They  just 
went  on,  talking,  talking — in  very  low  voices.  Oh  no!  they  never 
thought  any  one  was  listening.  It  was  the  subject-matter  of 
their  conversation — they  dropped  their  voices  down  to  it — as  a 
serious  tone.  Then  they  got  on  to  a  winding-up  quickness,  like 
concluding  off,  when  the  piece  is  ending,  and  their  voices  rose 
proportionate. 

"'You  must,  dear  old  boy/  says  she,  'you  really  must.  It's 
the  only  way  you  can  give  me  any  chance  of  making  it  up  to 
you.'  And  then  she  breaks  out,  betrayin'  emotion.  '  Oh,  my  dear, 

my  dear,  when  I  think  of  you  alone  all  these  years '  And 

I  gathered,  from  notice  taken,  that  she  was  cryin'  over  him  sub- 
stantial. What  did  he  say?  'I  had  the  boy,  darling  Lossie,  I 


622  NOTE  BY  THE  EDITOR 

had  the  boy.'  <  Yes,  dear  fellow/  says  she,  '  and  Bett's  boy  after 
all!'  I  think  it  was  Bett,  not  Becky.  'Ah/  says  he,  'but  you 
should  see  my  boy.  He  shall  go  to  Oxford  now.  Not  but  Hert- 
ford's very  good  for  him — but  I  should  like  Bailey/  and  then  they 
talked  again,  undertone,  but  I  could  hear  it  was  about  Janey. 

Nothing  but  Janey,  Janey,  Janey Then  Mr.  Vance  give  out 

suddenly,  crying  like  any  little  girl.  '  Oh  no,  Loss  dear/  says  he, 
*  do  talk  about  her — it  does  me  good/  And  then  I  had  to  go  down 
and  open  the  door,  and  it  was  a  mistake.  Only  they  wanted 
to  know — the  mistake — where  was  the  Ophthalmic  Insurance 
Society.  And  it  took  me  ever  so  long  to  direct — and  when  I  got 
back  upstairs  I  could  hear  the  conversation  concluding  off.  Oh 
yes,  I  heard  some  more !  She  said,  '  You'll  see  one  of  my  letters 
will  turn  up  in  time.' — 'How  did  you  direct  exactly?'  says  he. 
'  Simply  "  Joseph  Vance,  Esq.,"  at  the  old  address/  says  she.  '  And 
then  as  soon  as  I  was  well  enough  I  started  to  come.' — '  We  might 
find  them  in  the  Dead  Letter  Office/  says  Mr.  Vance,  'but  they 
wouldn't  do  us  any  good.'  And  then  they  came  out,  and  she  says, 
'  Now  you  must  come  over  to  Molly.  So  mind  you're  ready  at  nine 
to-morrow  when  I  come.'  And  next  day  sure  enough  she  came 
in  a  carriage,  and  she  and  Mr.  Vance  and  one  or  two  trunks  went 
away  to  Victoria,  and  that  was  the  last  of  them  I  see.  Pleased 
as  Punch  they  looked." 

This  appeared  to  be  all  the  information  I  could  get  from  Miss 
Constantine.  I  determined  next  to  apply  to  Herr  Dr.  Ludwig  Pflei- 
derer  at  the  address  she  had  given  me.  I  can  give  the  substance 
of  his  information  without  repeating  his  exact  words.  He  met 
Mr.  Vance  a  year  ago  at  Simpson's  chess-rooms,  and  had  played 
a  good  many  games  with  him  in  his  own  house,  but  more  at  Mr. 
Vance's  rooms.  Mr.  V.  was  very  retired,  always  asking  to  come 
alone  if  possible,  as  he  really  disliked  Society  in  every  form.  Mr. 
V.  had  given  a  general  account  of  himself  corresponding  with  that 
in  the  narrative,  but  had  mentioned  no  names  of  friends.  Dr. 
Pfleiderer  had  noticed  this  as  peculiar;  but  he  went  to  Mr.  V.'s 
rooms  to  play  chess,  not  to  pry  into  his  private  affairs.  Mr.  V. 
was  always  going  to  Brazil  next  month,  but  was  always  detained 
by  some  new  document  turning  up  at  the  British  Museum,  which 
he  felt  bound  to  examine  carefully.  He  was  always  very  anxious 
to  get  letters  from  an  adopted  son  of  his  who  was  at  Harvard. 
Asked  why  the  boy  should  not  go  to  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  as  then 
he  would  have  him  near  him,  and  he  could  remain  longer  in  Eng- 
land, Mr.  V.  said  the  boy  had  relations  in  England  he  did  not  wish 


52? 

him  to  make  acquaintance  with.  Was  it  a  family  quarrel?  No, 
there  was  no  quarrel — but  they  were  on  an  unusual  footing.  So  Dr. 
Pfleiderer  asked  no  more  questions. 

I  asked  about  the  lady  who  came  when  the  game  of  chess  was 
going  on.  I  will  give  Dr.  P/s  verbal  description  of  this. 

"  Aha !  "  said  he,  "  that  was  a  very  funny  incident !  I  was  con- 
sidering my  move,  and  did  not  hear  the  door  open.  Suddenly 
Mr.  Vance  started  up  and  shouted  out  ( Lost ! ' — at  least  that  was 
what  I  thought  he  said  at  the  time.  I  looked  up  and  said  his 
game  was  not  lost  at  all — far  from  it — and  then  I  saw  his  eyes 
fixed  on  some  one  behind  me,  and  I  turned  round  and  saw  a  very 
handsome  lady;  oldish  woman,  with  slightly  gray  hair  loose  on  the 
forehead,  and  a  very  soft  sort  of  look  about  the  eyes — long  eye- 
lashes— must  have  been  a  beauty  thirty  years  ago.  She  was  as 
white  as  this  sheet  of  paper,  and  looked  as  if  she  would  fall  for- 
ward. Mr.  Vance  went  round  the  table  quickly,  and  just  caught 
her  in  time.  He  got  her  to  the  sofa,  and  then  told  me  it  was  his 
sister,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  many  years,  and  we  would  finish 
our  game  another  time.  So,  as  I  was  in  the  way  I  said  good-night. 

"  He  called  on  me  next  day,  and  was  very  full  of  apologies  for 
the  way  he  had  packed  me  off.  He  said  it  was  perfectly  impos- 
sible to  give  an  explanation  of  the  circumstances  under  which  his 
sister  had  been  separated  from  him  for  a  very  long  term  of  years, 
Dr  of  those  which  had  brought  her  back  quite  unexpectedly.  But  her 
coming  had  made  a  great  change  in  his  plans,  and  now  instead 
of  going  to  Brazil  he  should  accompany  this  lady  back  to  Florence, 
where  she  lived.  'I  feel  rather  a  humbug,  Herr  Doctor/  said 
he,  'in  speaking  of  her  as  my  sister.  We  have  always  thought 
of  each  other  as  brother  and  sister — but  only  because  I  was  in  a 
sense  adopted  into  her  family  when  I  was  a  child  of  eight — half 
her  age/  'I  see/  said  I,  'you  have  always  thought  of  her  as  a 
sister — quite  always/  'As  a  very  dear  sister/  said  he.  'I  see/ 
said  I,  '  and  you  will  go  to  your  very  dear  sister's  house  in  Flor- 
ence, and  live  there,  and  be  her  very  dear  brother/  '  Something 
of  that  sort/  said  he.  '  And  I  expect  my  boy  will  go  to  Oxford 
after  all/  'You  will  forgive  my  plain  speech,  Mr.  Vance/  said 
I.  'And  play  a  game  of  chess  into  the  bargain,  Herr  Doctor/ 
said  he.  And  we  played  for  two  hour's.  He  opened  Ruy  Lopez, 
and  beat  me  in  fifty-four  moves.  It  was  a  good  game." 

"  Did  he  not  say  anything  farther  during  the  game  2 " 

"  Well — nothing  much  during  the  game.  My  wife  came  in  and 
gave  us  tea  and  talked  of  what  trouble  she  had  in  finding  an 
address  that  morning.  Mr.  Vance  said,  '  Well,  Mrs.  Pfleiderer, 


524  NOTE  BY  THE  EDITOR 

I  hope  you  didn't  have  so  much  trouble  to  find  your  friend  as 
the  lady  you  saw,  Herr  Doctor,  had  to  find  me  the  other  day.7 
And  then  he  told  us  how  she  had  come  to  London  on  a  forlorn 
hope  to  find  him  without  any  clue  at  all  except  that  he  had  been 
seen  in  Sloane  Street.  'Not  a  soul  of  my  own  connection  knew 
anything  about  me/  said  he.  *A11  thought  I  was  still  in  Brazil. 
Her  brother  was  laid  up  with  gout,  and  couldn't  help.  But  by 
a  lucky  chance  he  remembered  forwarding  some  goods  from  his 
Office  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  to  a  Pantechnicon,  for  me,  years 
and  years  ago — and  they  managed  to  fish  out  the  receipt  given 
when  the  goods  were  sent  for,  and  at  the  Pantechnicon  she  got 
my  address  and  came  straight  on.' " 

This  was  all  the  information  to  be  had  from  Herr  Pfleiderer. 

There  remained  a  chance  of  information  as  to  Mr.  Vance's  where- 
abouts if  one  of  Lady  Desprez's  letters  could  be  recovered.  I 
applied  at  the  Central  Office,  and  the  officials  were  most  courteous 
and  obliging,  making  every  possible  search  and  enquiry,  but  with- 
out result. 

It  might  appear  the  most  obvious  course  to  make  enquiry  for  this 
lady's  Villa  in  Florence.  But  there  is  no  doubt  many  of  the 
names  in  the  narrative  are  changed,  and  Desprez  undoubtedly  is, 
as  there  was  no  General  of  that  name  killed  at  Candahar  in  '79. 
This  is  not  the  only  name  whose  owner  could  certainly  be  identified 
if  it  were  genuine;  for  instance,  the  name  of  Thorpe.  The  name 
Vance  itself  is  rather  puzzling,  as  even  if  it  were  not  Mr.  Joseph 
Vance's  real  name,  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  Lady  Desprez  could 
direct  to  him  under  that  name — a  name  assumed,  be  it  noted,  to 
ensure  concealment  of  the  bearer.  But  no  large  building  firm 
under  the  name  of  Christopher  Vance  &  Co.  can  be  found  in  any 
directory.  The  story  of  the  signboard  makes  this  circumstance 
the  more  singular.  The  real  names  might  certainly  have  been  (for 
instance)  Hobson  and  Jobson  instead  of  Dance  and  Vance.  But 
if  the  names  are  altered  throughout  it  is  not  easy  to  see  why 
Mr.  Vance  was  so  anxious  to  destroy  the  MS. 

In  any  case  the  Publishers  and  myself  may  claim  that  we  have 
taken  every  possible  precaution.  We  have  advertised  not  only  in 
the  English  press,  but  in  that  of  other  countries  (Italy  espe- 
cially), without  receiving  any  answer.  I  have  personally  gone 
through  a  whole  library  of  Directories  of  all  sorts  in  the  hope  of 
finding  some  clue  to  some  one  person  mentioned,  but  without  suc- 
cess. The  narrative  is  published  now  in  the  belief,  on  our  part, 
that  if  it  is,  after  all,  a  genuine  one,  the  alteration  of  names  is 
such  that  identification  is  impossible,  and  will  remain  so. 


POSTSCRIPT  BY  THE  PUBLISHEKS 

JUST  as  the  first  edition  of  this  work  is  completed  in  the  press 
and  ready  for  the  binder,  a  most  embarrassing  letter  has  come 
into  the  Editor's  possession  which  establishes  the  identity  of 
the  "  Lady  Desprez  "  of  the  story.  We  have  decided,  after  taking 
legal  advice,  on  printing  this  letter  without  the  signature.  It  is 
essential  to  the  completeness  of  the  narrative  and  can  in  no  case 
make  matters  worse  than  they  are  already.  We  have,  however, 
communicated  with  the  writer  and  undertaken  to  suppress  the  work 
if  she  for  her  part  will  undertake  to  cover  expenses  up  to  date. 
If  no  answer  is  received  the  book  will  issue  as  announced. 

The  letter,  which  the  Post-Office  Authorities  have  handed  to 
the  Editor,  Mr.  Howden,  seems  to  have  gone  to  Chelsea,  Boston, 
U.  S.,  nearly  two  years  since,  and  remained  there  until  recently. 
That  it  has  reached  us  is  due  to  the  shrewdness  of  Mr.  Notley, 
of  St.  Martin's-le-Grand,  who  was  present  when  Mr.  Howden 
made  his  enquiry.  It  struck  him  that  the  same  thing  might  have 
occurred  that  he  had  known  in  another  case — that  the  address 
Chelsea,  S.  W.,  might  have  been  taken  for  Chelsea,  S.  U.  (Stati 
Uniti),  and  the  word  London  omitted.  This  was  exactly  what 
had  happened,  and  the  letter  was  found  on  application  to  the  office 
at  Boston. 

The  direction,  evidently  written  in  agitation,  omits  the  word 
London,  and  the  word  Inghilterra  written  last  is  a  mere  blot.  The 
whole  has  the  appearance  of  having  been  blotted  on  ordinary 
paper,  the  last  words  suffering  most.  To  add  to  this  the  stamps 
have  been  placed*  (probably  by  an  Italian  servant)  exactly  on 
what  was  the  word  Inghilterra, — perhaps  with  the  view  of  rem- 
edying the  slovenly  appearance. 

We  reprint  the  whole  letter,  only  omitting  the  signature.  For 
other  names  that  are  mentioned  we  have  substituted  those  in  the 
MS.  that  correspond. 

"VILLA  .   .   .   .,  FLORENCE. 

"My  dear,  dear  old  Joe,  is  it  too  late?    I  mean  is  it  still  pos- 
sible I  may  do  something — some  little  thing — to  make  amends  for 
*  Two  stamps  of  ten  centimes  and  one  of  five. 
525 


526  POSTSCRIPT   BY  THE   PUBLISHEKS 

all  the  cruel  wrong  I  have  been  doing  to  you  in  these  past  years  ? 
Oh,  my  dear,  if  this  should  reach  you,  write,  telegraph  at  once  to 
tell  me  where  you  are.  I  would  give  all  I  have,  would  give  all  my 
days  that  are  left,  only  to  see  you  for  one  hour  and  speak  with  you 
and  have  the  air  clear  between  us  as  it  used  to  be,  and  for  you  to 
know  how  miserably  I  could  allow  myself  to  be  deceived.  For,  my 
dear,  my  dear,  I  know  it  all  now — it  has  all  come  to  me  in  this  last 
twelve  hours,  and  Hugh  is  not  here  to  keep  me  calm  and  tell  me 
what  to  do.  I  must  act  for  myself  as  best  I  may.  God  grant  me 
only  to  see  your  dear  face  once  again — the  face  I  had  the  cowardice 
and  stupidity  to  think  deceived  me.  I  ought  to  have  known  it  was 
impossible,  and  I  was  a  fool  and  knew  nothing. 

"Writing  like  this  is  no  use!  I  had  better  stop  it  and  try  to 
tell  you  everything  that  has  happened,  as  nearly  as  I  can.  But  I 
am  ill,  and  my  head  swims.  If  it  were  not  so  I  should  start  at 
once  for  London,  for  I  know  you  are  in  London  somewhere.  But  I 
can  only  write  to  your  old  house  and  hope  some  chance  may  take 
the  letter  on. 

"  For  fifteen — no !  sixteen  years — God  forgive  me  for  my  folly — 
I  have  believed  one  whom  I  now  know  to  be  as  true  a  man  as  ever 
lived  to  have  been  false  in  word  and  deed — how  I  could  have 
thought  it,  it  bewilders  me  now  to  think!  But  I  was  deceived, 
my  dear,  so  cruelly  deceived.  And  now  I  have  to  purchase  the 
chance  of  making  some  amends  for  my  wrong  to  you  at  the  cost  of 
knowing  that  another  brother,  whose  memory  I  was  cherishing  as 
a  treasure,  was  one  for  whom  I  can  find  no  name  I  can  bear  to  call 
him  by — but  I  must  try  again  to  begin  and  tell  you  what  has  hap- 
pened— I  mean,  what  has  happened  in  this  last  day  here.  As  for 
my  excuses  for  the  past,  I  cannot  write  them  now.  Oh,  how  I 
hope  we  shall  meet  that  I  may  tell  you ! 

"You  must  remember  my  little  Cicely  (the  Turk,  you  called 
her).  She  and  a  young  soldier,  quite  a  boy,  whom  she  met  in  the 
summer  in  London,  are  in  love,  and  want  me  to  allow  them  to  be 
engaged.  He  has  come  here  on  a  visit,  and  Cicely  told  him  that  I 
still  keep  Hugh's  old  regimentals  that  he  had  at  the  time  of  his 
death.  He  came  to  me  yesterday  asking  as  a  great  privilege  that 
he  might  be  allowed  a  sight  of  them — there  is  not  a  young  man  in 
the  army,  said  he,  but  would  think  it  a  privilege  to  see  and  touch 
the  garment  Hugh  ....  died  in.  So  I  got  it  out  for  him,  and 
I  thank  God  I  did  so.  For  as  I  was  telling  him  of  the  little 
satchel  that  you  will  I'm  sure  recollect — he  stood  turning  it  over 
in  his  hands,  and  put  his  finger  through  the  hole  the  bullet  made. 
I  had  never  examined  it  so  closely — it  was  too  much  pain — and  had 


POSTSCRIPT   BY  THE   PUBLISHERS  527 

i 

wrapped  it  up  and  put  it  away  sixteen  years  ago.  Young  Lieu- 
tenant ....  said  there  was  a  piece  of  paper  inside  the  lining 
and  it  felt  like  an  envelope.  I  thought  it  impossible,  but  told 
him  to  pull  it  out.  I  saw  at  once  that  it  was  a  letter  to  the  mother 
of  your  boy  Cristoforo — but  not  in  your  handwriting! 

"  I  opened  it  and  saw  the  signature,  Giuseppe  Vance.  But  the 
moment  I  saw  l  Giuseppe '  I  saw  it  was  Beppino's.  And  the  whole 
thing  burst  suddenly  on  me,  and  I  was  wise  too  late.  I  fell  down 
insensible,  and  am  now  only  slowly  recovering  from  the  shock. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  see  it  all  plainly  now — at  least,  I  see  you  took 
Beppino's  guilt  upon  yourself,  and  made  his  boy  your  own.  I 
remember  I  wrote  out  to  Sarita  that  I  believed  it  must  have  been 
some  Quixotism  of  yours.  So  it  was,  dear  Joe,  but  it  was  the 
Quixotism  of  the  Angels. 

"  How  the  letter  came  to  be  in  Hugh's  old  wallet  quite  passes  my 
comprehension.  I  could  only  recollect  that  one  day  at  Poplar 
Villa  that  lining  was  torn,  and  Hugh  had  it  sewn  up.  The  letter 
must  have  been  slipped  inside  the  lining  and  sewn  in.  It  was 
before  we  bought  Villa  .  .  .  . — that's  all  I  can  recollect. 

"  As  to  Beppino — I  dare  not  think — in  fact,  I  cannot.  I  can  see 
nothing  now  except  that  he  writes  to  an  Italian  wife  whose  name  is 
not  Sibyl,  and  signs  himself  with  an  assumed  surname.  As  to  any 
possible  mistake  about  who  wrote  that  '  Giuseppe/  I  have  plenty  of 
letters  from  him  signed  so.  As  to  Sibyl,  I  shall  tell  her  nothing. 
She  had  better  not  know.  I  daresay  you  remember  that  she  mar- 
ried the  Duke  of  ....  within  two  years  of  Beppino's  death.  I 
always  say  Beppino's  boy  is  more  mine  than  hers  now.  She  is 
so  much  in  the  world. 

"  I  am  very  confused  about  it  all — but  quite  clear  of  one  thing — 
that  Beppino  deceived  some  girl  here  under  your  name,  and  you 
took  all  the  blame  on  yourself  after  her  death — and  I  did  wrong 
to  believe  you.  I  see  it  more  in  the  look  of  your  face,  as  I  remem- 
ber it  then,  than  by  any  analysis  I  can  make  of  the  story  now. 
I  see  it  all,  my  dear,  I  see  it  all!  And  I  know  you  have  never 
blamed  me. 

"  I  know  you  are  in  London  because  some  German  ladies  were 
here  last  week,  and  when  I  was  showing  them  my  photos,  one  of 
them  pitched  upon  your  portrait  and  said  she  had  seen  you  in 
Sloane  Street  just  before  starting  to  come  away,  but  that  you 
looked  much  older  than  when  she  knew  you.  She  was  a  Madame 
Schmidt,  who  has  been  a  great  pianist  I  believe.  If  only  her 
little  bit  of  information  leads  to  your  receiving  this,  how  glad  I 
shall  be! 


528  POSTSCKIPT  BY  THE  PUBLISHERS 

"Dear,  dear  other  little  brother,  if  this  letter  reaches  you  and 
we  never  meet,  as  may  be,  try  and  think  of  our  past  as  though  it 
had  ended  in  those  last  days  at  ....  Never  think  of  all  these 
dreary  years  of  darkness  and  misunderstanding.  If  only  we  might 
all  have  died  then — while  the  world  was  still  sweet  to  us  and  life 
seemed  good !  As  it  now  is,  the  best  to  hope  for  is  that  I  may  get 
my  strength  again  and  come  to  find  you.  But  I  know  that  if  you 
receive  this  you  will  come  at  once  to  me. 

"  They  tell  me  I  must  write  no  more,  and  I  want  this  to  go 
to-day.  I  shall  be  happier  when  it  is  posted.  It  is  a  chance — a 
hope  to  live  on.  My  hand  shakes,  but  I  can  still  write  that  I 
am  your  loving  sister. 

"  As  soon  as  I  am  better  I  shall  start  for  London  to  find  you. 
Let  Nolly's  people  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  know  where  you  are — 
and  he  will  go  to  you  at  once.  He  has  often  asked  what  has  be- 
come of  you,  and  I  have  told  him  this  and  that.  He  believes  you 
still  at  Kio  Grande,  or  somewhere  in  S.  America." 


FAMOUS  COPYRIGHT  BOOKS 
IN    POPULAR   PRICED   EDITIONS 

Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra* 
tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE.    By  Myrtle  Reed. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of  New  England  where  bygone 
romance  finds  a  modern  parallel.  One  of  the  prettiest,  sweetest,  and 
quaintest  of  old-fashioned  love  stories  *  *  *  A  rare  book,  ex- 
quisite in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of  delicate  fancy,  of  tenderness, 
of  delightful  humor  and  spontaneity.  A  dainty  volume,  especially 
suitable  for  a  gift 

DOCTOR  LUKE  OF  THE  LABRADOR.     By  Norman 
Duncan.    With  a  frontispiece  and  inlay  cover. 

How  the  doctor  came  to  the  bleak  Labrador  coast  and  there  in  say* 
tji^  life  made  expiation.  In  dignity,  simplicity,  humor,  in  sympathetic 
etching  of  a  sturdy  fisher  people,  and  above  all  in  the  echoes  of  the 
sea,  Doctor  Luke  is  worthy  of  great  praise.  Character,  humor,  poign- 
ant pathos,  and  the  sad  grotesque  conjunctions  of  old  and  new  civili- 
zations are  expressed  through  the  medium  of  a  style  that  has  distinc- 
tion and  strikes  a  note  of  rare  personality. 

THE  DAY'S  WORK.    By  Rudyard  Kipling.    Illustrated. 

The  London  Morning  Post  says :  "  It  would  be  hard  to  find  better 
reading  *  *  *  the  book  is  so  varied,  so  full  of  color  and  life  from 
end  to  end,  that  few  who  read  the  first  two  or  three  stories  will  lay  it 
down  till  they  have  read  the  last— and  the  last  is  a  veritable  gem 
*  *  *  contains  some  of  the  best  ot  his  highly  vivid  work  *  *  * 
Kipling  is  a  born  story-teller  and  a  man  of  humor  into  the  bargain* 

ELEANOR  LEE.    By  Margaret  E.  Songster.    With  a  front- 
ispiece. 

A  story  of  married  life,  and  attractive  picture  of  wedded  bliss  •  • 
an  entertaining  story  or  a  man's  redemption  through  a  woman's  love 


every  one  who  knows  the  meaning 
"home/* 

THE  COLONEL  OF  THE  RED  HUZZARS.    By  John 

Reed  Scott.  Illustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 
"Full  of  absorbing  charm,  sustained  interest,  and  a  wealth  of 
thrilling  and  romantic  situations.  "  So  naively  fresh  in  its  handling, 
so  plausible  through  its  naturalness,  that  it  comes  like  a  mountain 
breeze  across  the  far-spreading  desert  of  similar  romances."  —  Gazette- 
Times,  Pittsburg.  "  A  slap-dashing  day  romance."—  .Mw  York  Sun. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  NEW  YORK 


FAMOUS  COPYRIGHT  BOOKS 
IN  POPULAR  PRICED  EDITIONS 

Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra- 
tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

BARREL  OF  THE  BLESSED  ISLES.      By  Irving  Bach- 

eller.    With  illustrations  by  Arthur  Keller. 
"Barrel,  the  clock  tinker,  is  a  wit,  philosopher,  and  man  of  mystery. 
Learned,  strong,  kindly,  dignified,  he  towers  like  a  giant  above  the 
people  among  whom  he  lives.      It  is  another  tale  of  the  North  Coun- 
try, full  of  the  odor  of  wood  and  field.    Wit,  humor,  pathos  and  high 
thinking  are  in  this  book."— Boston  Transcript. 
D'Rl  AND  I :    A  Tale  of  Daring  Deeds  in  the  Second  War 
with  the  British.    Being  the  Memoirs  of  Colonel  Ramon 
Bell,  U.  S.  A.    By  Irving  Bacheller.    With  illustrations  by 
F.  C.  Yohn. 

0  Mr.  Bacheller  is  admirable  alike  in  his  scenes  of  peace  and  war. 
£)'ri,  a  mighty  hunter,  has  the  same  dry  humor  as  Uncie  Eb.  He 
fights  magnificently  on  the  '  Lawrence,'  and  was  among  the  wounded 
when  Perry  went  to  the  *  Niagara.'  As  a  romance  of  early  American 
history  it  is  great  for  the  enthusiasm  it  creates."—  New  York  Times. 
EBEN  HOLDEN :  A  Tale  of  the  North  Country.  By  Irving 

Bacheller. 

"  As  pure  as  water  and  as  good  as  bread,"  says  Mr.  Howells.  "Read 
•Eben  Holden  "'is  the  advice  of  Margaret  Sangster.  "  It  is  a  forest- 
scented,  fresh-aired,  bracing  and  wholly  American  story  of  country 
and  town  life.  *  *  *  If  in  the  far  future  our  successors  wish  to 
know  what  were  the  real  life  and  atmosphere  in  which  the  country 
folk  that  saved  this  nation  grew,  loved,  wrought  and  had  their  being, 
they  must  go  back  to  such  true  and  zestful  and  poetic  tales  of 'fiction* 
as  *  Eben  Holden,'  "  says  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 
SILAS  STRONG:  Emperor  of  the  Woods.  By  Irving  Bach- 
eller. With  a  frontispiece. 

•*  A  modern  Leather  stocking.    Brings  the  city  dweller  the  aroma  of 
the  pine  and  the  music  of  the  wind  in  its  branches— an  epic  poem 
*    *    *    forest-scented,  fresh-aired,  and  wholly  American.  A  stronger 
character  than  Eben  Holden." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 
VERGILIUS:    A  Tale  of  the  Coming  of  Christ    By  Irving 

Bacheller. 

'  A  thrilling  and  beautiful  story  of  two  young  Roman  patricians  whose 
great  and  perilous  love  in  the  reign  of  Augustus  leads  them  through 
me  momentous,  exciting  events  that  marked  the  year  just  preceding 
*he  birth  of  Christ. 

Splendid  character  studies  of  the  Emperor  Augustus,  of  Herod  and 
Ms.  degenerate  son,  Antipater,  and  of  his  daughter  "the  incomparable'* 
Salome.  A  great  triumph  in  the  art  of  historical  portrait  painting. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,      -      NEW  YORK 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


27Uay'57Kt 

REC  D  LD 

SSen'cq*  t 

r*JJj{J 

fcKC'n  r  D 

St?  i    IOSQ 

•A        w%Xy£? 

-   -   FEB-l 

980 

Mu.  «i.t,   AUG     8   197 

9 

AUG  0  4  200? 

LD  21-100m-6,'56 
(B9311slO)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


